


Nature Scented Aphrodisiac

by XAnima_Bellax



Series: Nature Scented [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Break Up, Derek's a wingman, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Jackson is an asshole, Jealousy, M/M, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Peter is alive, Rebuilt Hale House, Sex in the woods, Sterek Bromance, Top Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XAnima_Bellax/pseuds/XAnima_Bellax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson is a really shitty boyfriend. Stiles knew this before they started dating. He also keeps breaking up with him for it… And because make-up sex is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Break Up / No Make Up

**Author's Note:**

> I originally got this idea from a prompt post, but hadn't gotten around to writing it. Then I was skimming through the few Jackson/Stiles that's out there and came to the realization that none of them are very realistic. So I'm writing this.
> 
> This also starts off with Jackson and Stiles in an established relationship.

For some predominant reason people liked to think that Jackson was an undercover sweetheart. They liked to think that he showered Stiles with kisses and cuddled up with him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. Boy, were they fucking wrong. All in all, Jackson was a dick. And he never did _any_ of that stuff.

At first Stiles had been kind of surprised by the fact that people honestly believed that. Before him and Jackson had become official, Jackson had dated Lydia. Lydia _Martin_ , who was demanding and high maintenance. It didn't shock him too much though, because Lydia didn't seem like the type to want constant intimacy. Plus their relationship hadn't been so much about love and comfort, but power and domination.

It was a nice fantasy, having Jackson shower him with kisses, but an unrealistic one. That's not saying that Jackson and Stiles never kissed. They did, and quite passionately, but it wasn't sweet and pretty like in the movies. Jackson did everything with a burning fire and for all that doubt that he had swimming in his head, everything else was executed with brute force and power. Jackson's kisses were demanding and deep and they left Stiles breathless. That didn't mean that Jackson was incapable of being gentle. He could be, but those times were rare and spaced greatly apart.

Picturing Jackson cuddled up with him was hysterically funny. Jackson didn't like to be touched very much, which pretty much ruled out any chances of them cuddling just because; after sex was even more unlikely. Sex with Jackson was like kissing with Jackson. It was wild and rough and powerful…and sweaty. And Jackson liked to think of sex as some weird form of cuddling in its self because that required a lot of touching and was one of the only times that Jackson liked it when Stiles touched him excessively. Stiles wasn't complaining because he was a guy too and lying in bed holding a sweaty body close to him didn't sound very romantic; and that would require him to be still long enough to let that happen.

It was fucking impossible to think of Jackson whispering sweet talk to him. Jackson hadn't said anything sweet to him since, well _never_. When they became official all Jackson had done was walk up to him in the hallway at school and give him one of those toe-curling kisses before stating " _You're_ _mine_." There was no long, heartfelt speech about how he couldn't live without Stiles, which was okay because Stiles was used to people who didn't use their words. He was surrounded by them. His dad, Scott, Derek; the list just kept growing. That wasn't much of a problem because he did a lot of talking anyway. Just because he didn't expect Jackson to do those things, just because he stayed with Jackson with the lack of softness; that didn't mean that he thought that Jackson was a great boyfriend.

Jackson's a really shitty boyfriend. Stiles knew that before they started dating. He watched how he was with Lydia. And if that wasn't enough proof, _how_ he broke up with Lydia was even more of an eye opener. Stiles had never been very strong at making decisions that held his best interest though, and he wanted Jackson. Not that Jackson gave him much of a damn choice anyway. Nonetheless he probably would have put up more of a fight if he knew that Jackson was going to be super dick times five. _God_ , but Jackson was bitchy. And like the world's biggest jackass. And all of that seemed much more evident whenever Stiles was involved. They were constantly fighting, bickering and threatening each other. It was exhausting, but a part of their relationship.

 

*

 

Their more recent fight was about Jackson's priorities.

"If I'd known you were this whiny I would have never agreed to date you," Jackson said nonchalantly.

"Agreed to date me? Is that what our relationship is, an agreement? And where the hell do you get off saying _I'm_ the whiny one," Stiles seethed. He didn't lose his temper often, but when he did it was gone.

"I think we both know who the needy one is. I just spent an entire day with you. Can't I go off and hang with my friends?"

"An entire….We spent _three_ _hours_ together. Out of the entire _week_. And you're always hanging out with your friends."

"I can't have friends?" Jackson asked. His voice was dropping in volume and Stiles took that as a sign that his patience was wearing thin. Not that he gave an actual fuck because Jackson always lost his temper and he wasn't getting off the hook so easy this time. "Because if that's what you're saying, you're going to be really fucking disappointed when I tell you to kiss my ass."

"I'm not saying that! God, you always put words in my mouth. I'm just saying that it would be nice if we could spend some time together," Stiles defended. Jackson let out a humorless laugh.

"Stop being such a pussy about everything! I swear you are such a girl sometimes."

"I know that you're being a dick on purpose so that I can just tell you to forget about it, but that isn't gonna happen this time. I mean it Jackson. All I want is for you to spend the night with me Saturday."

"I'm _not_ doing _it_. I have better shit to do than lounge around with you Saturday. Why can't we do it Tuesday?" Stiles shook his head. He could feel his frustration threatening to boil over.

"You know I spend Tuesdays with my dad. You never spend time with me." Unless sex was involved, but Stiles wasn't gonna get into that with Jackson. Pull one tooth at a time and hopefully he ended up getting his way.

"I've been planning this weekend for a month. I can't just blow it off because your loser friends suddenly got a life and you're lonely," Jackson spat.

"Oh get over your fucking self. You go on this stupid hunting trip several times a year. And you and your douchebag friends never even hunt. You just spend the whole weekend drinking and talking about how fucking awesome you _think_ you are," Stiles retorted.

"Who fucking cares what we do? It's my time to hang with my friends."

"You throw bitch fits all the time when my friends are involved," Stiles pointed out. Jackson snorted obnoxiously.

"You're friends are fucking losers. I'm doing you a favor by dragging you away from them." Jackson's looking Stiles dead in the eyes and Stiles knows that he is serious.

"I could say the same about those idiots you call friends. And why does it always come back to my friends being losers? I don't go around criticizing you on your friends."

"That's because my friends aren't losers." Jackson sounded so unrightfully arrogant. Stiles rolled his eyes and threw Jackson a dirty look.

"No, but if you started recruiting friends based on IQs, those jerk offs wouldn't make the cut." Not that Scott was ever going to be valedictorian, but Scott had a lot of other qualities that kept him in the running for outstanding friend. When he wasn't blinded by any and all things Allison, that is.

"Cute Stilinski. I love how you just keep adding on to the list of reasons why I shouldn't give two fucks about canceling my plans this weekend." Stiles stood there for a minute, taking in what Jackson had just said. Did he really believe half the shit that left his mouth? He was making it seem like Stiles was the problem here. Manipulative bastard.

"You're the one… _who's changing the subject!_ " Stiles shouted suddenly. The sneaky son of a bitch was purposely throwing out random insults. "This isn't even _about_ your pathetic jock friends. This is about the fact that your priorities are majorly fucked up."

"So what, you want me to reevaluate everything in my life and move you to the top of the list? Should I just call off everything and cater to your every beck and call?" Jackson asked. Stiles could practically taste the sarcasm in his words.

"I'm not asking you to do that, Jackson! I don't want to be number one all the damn time. I get that some things in life are more important than your relationship. Trust me; I learned that with Scott and Allison. But I don't want to be at the very fucking bottom of the list all the time. It would be nice if you, I don't know, placed me above watching Youtube videos all day." Was that so much to ask for? He didn't want to spend every second of the day with Jackson kissing his ass, but he wanted to at least be acknowledged.

"You are so damn selfish," Jackson replied slowly after a minute or two. Stiles choked on the shock that rose up in his throat at Jackson's accusation. He looked at Jackson, face holding an incredulous expression.

" _I'm_ selfish? Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black."

"I'm just speaking the truth. You're egotistic and you're possessive. Can this not be about you for one fucking second?" The matter-of-fact tone that Jackson used did nothing to decrease Stiles' ire.

"That's really fucking rich coming from you Jackson. Everything is always, _always_ about you. So maybe I am being a little selfish, but I think I fucking deserve it because you're a really shitty boyfriend."

"If I'm such a shitty boyfriend then why are you with me?" Jackson asked. He sounded so damn smug, like Stiles should be kissing his feet. It pissed him off that Jackson wasn't even taking this seriously.

"I don't know sometimes. Honestly, I ask myself that question all the time. I haven't come up with a profound enough answer, but when I do I'll text it to you," Stiles replied sarcastically. Jackson seemed to have forgotten that _he_ was the reigning king of cynicism.

"You know what, save yourself the headache. Maybe we should break up." Jackson didn't even blink at the words. As a matter of fact, he sounded a bit sure of himself, like he expected Stiles to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

"Fine Jackson. Go on your stupid hunting trip. You don't have to worry about upsetting your boyfriend because you officially don't have one." Two could play this game.

"Oh come on Stilinski!" Jackson sound exasperated, but Stiles didn't take that as a sign of victory. "I'll let you blow me if you just drop this wounded puppy routine you have going." And that's why.

"See that's what I'm talking about. You never take me serious." Everything that Stiles said was always a joke to Jackson.

"How can I when you're always playing the breakup card?" And okay, that held a little bit of truth in it, but Stiles wasn't going to fall for Jackson's mind game. He was holding his ground this time.

"You believe what you want to, but we're over Jackson. I'm seriously done this time. You should leave."

"Whatever dude. I'll see you tomorrow." Jackson waved his hand in a dismissive manner, grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. Stiles followed him out his bedroom and down the stairs.

"I'm not kidding Jackson," he said, keeping his voice as even as possible. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure that Jackson could hear it, being a supernatural asshole and all. It was probably why Jackson never believed him when he said he was done.

Jackson didn't offer anything in response, just opened Stiles' front door and let himself out.

"Stupid asshole," Stiles muttered. He locked the front door and made his way back upstairs.

 

*

 

"Why did you break up this time?" Allison asked as soon as she saw him enter the school building. Scott was nowhere in sight so Stiles figured he was running late again.

"Is it that obvious?" Stiles asked. Allison nodded her head in affirmative and Stiles let out a sigh. "How can you tell?"

"You mean besides the fact that he isn't plastered all over you, letting everyone know that you're his?" It was true. Jackson was a possessive bastard. He didn't particularly like PDA, but he was such a selfish prick that he wanted to eliminate any and every threat that he thought existed inside the city limits of Beacon Hills.

"He deserved it this time." Well he deserved it every time, but this time was intensified by the fact that Stiles hadn't spent any actual time with Jackson in over two weeks. "I asked him to spend the weekend with me, just hanging out, and he flipped his shit."

"Who flipped their shit?" Scott asked, making an entrance. He didn't give Stiles a chance to answer. Instead he turned to Allison. "Happy Tuesday." He kissed Allison as a greeting and Stiles scowled as it progressed into a mild make out session. God, was that how he looked with Jackson?

"Whenever the two of you are done tasting the remains of each other's breakfast," Stiles muttered darkly. Scott smirked apologetically at him and Allison blushed a little. Scott's face fell suddenly, scowl taking over.

"Douchebag alert at 2:00." Stiles swiveled his head around, but didn't find who Scott was talking about. Allison giggled a little, before tapping Stiles on the shoulder.

"He means 6:00," she explained, jerking her head towards the right direction. Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott's stupidity and turned towards the direction Allison pointed him in.

His breath caught when he spotted Jackson. Jackson looked hot on any day, but he always seemed to look absolutely stunning after they broke up. It was totally unfair, because while Stiles was sulking around, Jackson was growing more attractive. It didn't help that Jackson was popular and could literally have anyone in school he wanted. Stiles….not so much.

Dating Jackson did surprisingly little for his seemingly permanent loser status. Not that he could care about that. There were more important things than high school popularity. Such as not getting eaten alive whenever the supernatural was involve, which they always were. That didn't mean that it didn't kill him a little bit inside to know that Jackson could replace him in his life so easily.

Jackson managed to catch Stiles staring at him. He could tell the moment that Jackson found his face in the crowd because that signature smug smirk of his made an appearance. As much as Stiles loathed that smirk, he couldn't help but admit that it looked damn good on Jackson's face. Lydia was suddenly there next to Jackson, looking just as gorgeous as he was. Stiles watched in horror as Jackson slung an arm over Lydia's shoulder before walking off in the opposite direction.

"Whoa, are Lydia and Jackson back together?" Scott asked. His mouth was hanging open in its usual way, signaling that he hadn't gotten any smarter in the past 24 hours.

"It seems that way," Stiles stated grimly. He waited a few seconds, waiting for Scott's obviously underused brain to catch up.

"But he's….you…You guys broke up again?" Scott asked. His voice was filled with astonishment and Stiles let out a humorless laugh.

"You'd think that we've never broken up before. But yes genius, we broke up _again_. I'm a free man." Stiles slammed his locker shut.

"It doesn't really seem like you want to be a free man," Scott committed. Allison let out a little huff as way of an apology for Scott's total obliviousness to other people's feelings.

"Wow, what gave it away? Because I thought I was doing a stand up job at being happy with having broken up with my boyfriend." Stiles glared at Scott. Scott, the idiot that he was, didn't seem to even notice.

"Why don't you ask Lydia how she kept Jackson happy for three years?" Scott suggested in what Stiles suspected was a supposed to be a useful voice.

"Right, because I'm just _dying_ to talk to my boyfriend's ex about how she kept him satisfied," Stiles gritted out bitterly.

"Well she did something right because you're the ex now and she's walking around with Jackson." Stiles turned to glare at Scott, channeling all of his inner Derek.

"I will seriously kick you in the balls if you don't fucking shut up." Scott looked a little surprised at Stiles' hostile words and Allison grabbed on to Scott's arm and tugged him away.

"Come on; don't wanna be late for class do you?" Scott followed after her with that stupid, love struck grin. Allison turned and looked at Stiles over her shoulder, mouthing the word sorry. Stiles just shook his head. It wasn't her fault that Scott was a moron.

 

*

 

The week passed by too slowly for Stiles. School was a drag. He shared two classes with Jackson, which wouldn't be so bad if Stiles was conflicted between choking him and kissing him. It sucked ass hard because they shared History together and were currently going over Greek mythology. Stiles loved Greek mythology, but couldn't concentrate on it worth shit because with every day they were broken up, Jackson got sexier. And the stupid smug bastard knew it. Stiles could tell by the way he sauntered in class, refusing to meet Stiles' eyes, but wearing that dumb grin the entire period.

Math was even worse because he shared that class with both Jackson and Lydia. It made him absolutely sick that the two of them were back together. They made a good couple. They were both gorgeous and bitchy and hormonal. And they made more sense together than Jackson and Stiles ever did. It just hurt so damn much to see Jackson move on from him so quickly. They hadn't even been apart an entire week yet when Jackson had already rekindled the flames with Lydia.

Luckily they didn't make out, which was kind of weird. Lydia was just as possessive as Jackson and Stiles found it hard to believe that either of them would be together and not make their mark. Maybe Jackson didn't want his lips sticky with Lydia's lipstick and gloss combo. And Stiles was pretty sure he heard Lydia say that she spent $80 on that lipstick. It didn't seem likely that she'd waste a single application kissing Jackson.

Stiles wasn't thinking too deeply into that though because he would kill himself if he had to watch them make out. Or possible choke to death on his own vomit, which would probably be a lighter blow to his dad. What it didn't help was his self-esteem. Though Jackson was a class A, jerk face, he did reassure Stiles that he was one hot stud muffin. He had to be for Jackson to stay with him. Yet that seemed to only work if Jackson was actually with him, seeing as how he felt about as attractive as horse crap.

This was the longest time they'd ever gone without making up. It was tearing Stiles apart inside, but he refused to kiss Jackson's ass. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Jackson was with Lydia and he was positive that Jackson would never make the mistake of leaving Lydia for him again. So instead of dwelling on the fact that his boyfriend, who he really did love or else he wouldn't have put up with his shit, wasn't his boyfriend anymore, he threw himself into the pack.

Surprisingly he and Derek were the equivalent of best bros, though not quite because Derek was absolutely set on not letting Stiles call them that. Derek was refreshingly chill when he wasn't stressing out about hunters and killing Jackson and hunters and turning teens into werewolves…and hunters. And okay the only thing that he wasn't still stressing out about was turning teenagers and killing Jackson, though sometimes it was hard to tell if that was true.

Derek and Stiles had the same taste in music and movies and cars, Stiles jeep not withstanding because he was in fucking high school and didn't have a ton of inheritance money. And Derek was a thousand times better at cheering him up than Scott was, who he hadn't seen very much of because him and Allison were sharing their anniversary for another stupid date that didn't even make sense; because who celebrated the anniversary for the first time they held hands? The defining moment in their newly found bro-ship was when Derek took him to see The Dark Knight Rises _and_ let him ride in the Camaro. To say that Stiles was completely touched by the gesture was an understatement. He nearly cried. But Derek, suave BAMF that he was just hunched his shoulders and gave Stiles one of those Edward Cullen looks; deep, brooding and intense.

 

*

 

That was two weeks ago.

Derek had been relying on Stiles pretty heavily lately, but Stiles already knew why. After a month of being Jackson free, Stiles was still secretly pining after said douchnozzle. And apparently Derek had finally had enough of it. They had just finished training Isaac – _they_ because Derek wasn't the best when it came to patience – when Derek decided that Stiles needed to get laid.

"Are you serious? You're talking about getting laid?" Stiles asked, mouth hanging open in shock. Derek was like the king of celibacy.

"The best way to get over a person is to have great sex with someone else," Derek replied with a shrug. "Or have them burn your family alive, cause that works wonders too." Stiles' mouth fell open wider. He was still getting used to Derek joking. Derek joking about his family and Kate Argent _didn't_ happen.

"I'm not going to comment on that out of fear that you're going to rip my toes off and feed them to me," Stiles said slowly. Derek smirked grimly.

"Good thinking. What do you say? Want to hit up that gay club again?"

"You mean the gay club that I'm technically not old enough to get into?" Stiles asked sourly.

"It's an 18 and older club, Stiles. They're gonna let you in this time," Derek remarked. Stiles shrugged in understanding, before something crossed his mind.

"Wait a minute, why a gay club? I sleep with Jackson and suddenly I'm on a strict dick diet?" he asked, hands moving animatedly. Derek snickered.

"You dated Jackson. And the fact that I've never seen you go after a chick, Lydia not included because she'd might as well have a penis, seals the deal. And it's easier to find a guy that can tolerate you than a girl."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just insulted me. Why do _you_ want to go to a gay club?" Stiles asked slyly. Derek shrugged.

"I'm not gay, but I'm confident in myself. And there's a straight bartender... " Stiles watched the sly grin spread over Derek's handsome face. Of course there'd be an ulterior motive.

"You're using me to bang some chick," Stiles pointed out. "not get me laid."

"I'm killing two birds with one stone. You want to go or not? Because if I have to look at the 'I miss Jackson' face one more day, I'll tear your head off." Stiles was 99.9% sure that Derek wouldn't do that, but that .1% was more than he was willing to bank on.

"Okay, fine. But if I don't get laid, you'll owe me big time." Stiles grabbed his coat and headed towards Derek's car. If they were really doing this, there was no way he was showing up in the jeep. She was his baby, but she'd definitely seen better days…most of those days existing in a time when werewolves were strictly fictional.

"You are not getting in my car like that. You're sweaty and you stink," Derek replied, yanking Stiles back by the collar of his shirt.

"Dude, come on! You've _bled_ in my jeep…several times!" Stiles exclaimed. Derek didn't look impressed.

"You're jeep isn't my Camaro. Moreover, you aren't getting laid smelling like that." Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Whose fault is it anyway? I certainly didn't plan on spending my night sweating it out in this death bed you call a lair. You're the one who wanted my help training Isaac."

" _You_ call it a lair. And you should feel honored I asked for your help."

"Because of my awesome training skills?" Stiles asked excitedly. Derek gave him an unimpressed look.

"Because you managed to keep Scott somewhat alive and unharmed with your training skills," Derek corrected. Stiles shrugged. Same thing really.

"Since the guy who should have been training him was M.I.A majority of the time."

"The guy that should have been training him was trying to stay out of jail long enough to do anything," Derek shot back.

"Are you ever going to let that go?" Stiles asked sheepishly.

"Not a chance. Go shower and wear something that isn't plaid. Better yet," Derek replied, tossing Stiles a bag. "wear that. I estimated on your size, but it should fit well enough." Stiles caught the bag and looked through it. Black t-shirt and dark grey jeans. Great, he was going as Derek Jr.

"You went shopping for this? Why – how did you even know I would agree?" Stiles asked curiously.

"Agreeing was never the problem. Once I set out on a goal, I achieve it by any means necessary. You've got an hour to get ready. Not a second more, so if you don't want me to drag you out of your house soaking wet and naked, you better move your ass."

Stiles didn't need to be told twice.


	2. Club Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek hit up Jungle

The club had a surprisingly relaxed air about it. It wasn't raging music and hormones and juiceheads. The beat of the music pulsed and made Stiles want to dance. And Derek's girl, a cute redhead with dimples and a big rack, was supplying them with drinks all night. Even though Stiles wasn't old enough to drink, that didn't stop Derek from passing him alcohol. It was mostly just beers, light stuff to get him to loosen up; Stiles had a lot of practice with the harder stuff, sneaking into his dad's supply and all, so it wasn't really getting him drunk. But the effort of it all really touched him.

And he had to admit that he looked damn good. Derek always pulled off the dark mysterious look, with his bulging muscles and stubble and penetrating expressions. But Stiles always figured that he was a little too pale and small and clumsy and loud for it. But he _did_ pull it off. The black t-shirt wasn't tight like Derek's, but it clung just right on his chest and arms to accentuate what he did have in muscle tone. The black was a lovely contrast to his pale skin and the V-neck dipped teasingly low.

The pants might as well had been painted on because they were definitely not his size. They were like two sizes smaller than his normal jeans. But they did make his thighs and ass stand out. He was letting his hair grow out, and it was just long enough that he could form a faux Mohawk so he was really looking like mini Derek. Not that he cared. Derek was getting hit on left to right, and for once Stiles wasn't sitting back wishing that he could get some action. _He_ was getting hit on, and not by drag queens. There were really cute guys there and while none of them compared to Jackson, he had to admit they were pretty damn close.

"Why don't you dance with someone?" Derek said suddenly, bumping his shoulder into Stiles'. Stiles shook his head and took another swig of his beer.

"I don't think so." It wasn't that he didn't want to dance…okay maybe that was it. Stiles was a lot of things, but dancer wasn't anywhere on that list. Derek exhale noisily and nudged him again.

"I don't think you understood me. Let's try the remix. Get your ass up and dance with one of these guys or so help me God, I'm going to rip your throat out…with my teeth." Stiles snorted and turned to look at Derek.

"You wouldn't do that," Stiles replied. Derek continued to glare back at him, heated expression unwavering. "Okay, maybe you would."

"Move your ass… _now_ ," Derek growled out. His eyes flickered red for half a second. It could have easily been a trick of the light, but Stiles was one who danced with wolves, and he knew that light had nothing to do with it.

"Alright, alright. Jeez, werewolves are some moody bastards, I tell you." He gulped the rest of his beer down before hopping off the bar stool. He stood there awkwardly for a second, checking out the scene. The dance floor was swarming with guys and Stiles could pretty much feel the heat from their bodies from where he was standing. He heard Derek's groan of disapproval, but before he could turn around and plead his case, he felt Derek's hand on his back.

 _Man his hand's big._ Embarrassing enough, _that_ was the thought that passed through his brain as Derek pushed a surge of energy through him. The power of Derek's thrust had him all but crashing into some hopeless guy that happened to be situated in front of him. Lucky enough for him, this guy wasn't small. He was built a lot like Derek, a little taller and definitely wider. If this guy ended up wanting to fight, he was sure that Derek would win, were-freak and all, but he was willing to bet this guy wouldn't go down easy. The guy, Hulk Jr., grabbed onto Stiles waist and kept him from falling rather ungraciously on the floor. Stiles blushed hotly and stood up quickly. In his haste to right himself, he ended up bumping into Hulk Jr.'s hand, spilling whatever drink he had onto his shirt.

"You've scuffed my shoes and ruined my shirt."

"I'm so sorry. My friend back there is an abusive dickhead, and if you feel the need to get violent, you should definitely start with him. He'll be more of a challenge. I'm easy. I'll just ball up in the fetal position and cry for my dad…who's the _sheriff_." And he was babbling. He tended to do that when he was nervous…and drunk…and, well he tended to do that.

"What if I like easy?" Hulk Jr. asked, eyebrow raised. Stiles stared at him in horror, mouth open in shock. A smirk spread across Hulk Jr.'s face and Stiles exhaled in relief.

" _Oh_ , oh that was a joke. Thank god. I thought you were looking to bruise me as collateral."

"Actually collateral sounds nice. But not of the violent variety."

"How about I buy you a drink. You know, to replace the one I just knocked all over you."

"I'd rather dance. That is if your boyfriend won't mind." Boyfriend…He must have meant Derek. Figures that this guy would go for Derek. Who wouldn't go for Derek.

"I'd have to actually get a boyfriend first so I think we're good in that department. Unless, you think Derek's my boyfriend because he's not. He's as straight as an arrow. Although those can bend right before they break. So if at any point you decide to jump his bones, don't let his persistent no's stop you. He says no to everything."

"I'm Bentley." Hulk Jr. replied without missing a beat. And now Stiles had a name for him. One that didn't fit, but a name all the same.

"Like the car?" Stiles asked, because he basically had nothing better to ask and as long as he kept Hulk- _Bentley_ \- talking, he didn't have to worry about protecting his face…or showcasing his bad dancing; Derek seemed serious about making him dance with someone tonight.

"Like the university, but as long as you remember it, I'm fine."

"I'm Stiles…like the…I'm Stiles,"

"Like the guy from Teen Wolf?"

"I'm not… I have no clue what you're talking about," Stiles said immediately. He was aware that his tone _pretty_ much entailed that he was lying, and was the universal sound of _I definitely know what you're talking about_. "Teenagers and werewolves…get real." Okay he'd truly spent too much time with Jackson because he was usually _much_ better under pressure.

"Seriously? High school student named Scott finds out he's a werewolf. He gets like wicked good at sports and everyone loves him for it. Has a goofy yet adorable friend named Stiles. Michael J. Fox?"

"You mean there's an actual movie about that kind of stuff?" Stiles asked in turn, awe coloring his voice. Maybe he should have started his research there instead of Wikipedia. And it didn't hit closer to home than that. Right down to the names. This, in retrospect, kind of sucked because he thought that _Stiles_ had been a really unique, completely original name. He even had the whole alliteration thing going on. So much for that.

"Maybe we can get together and watch it sometime." That sounded like an invitation, but Stiles was a little confused because he was pretty sure that Bentley wanted Derek. He couldn't really see that working out, but he wasn't one to dabble in other people's love lives…often. "So, how about that dance?"

"Um, okay. Just give me a second. I'm sure I can work a little magic and make some things happen," Stiles smiled nervously because he honestly had no fucking clue how he was going to get Derek to agree to this.

One, because Derek was really fucking straight, and even if he was comfortable with being a magnet for sexual suitors of all genders, he still was really, _really_ fucking straight. Two, even if he did decide that he could dabble a bit on the gay side of the rainbow, Stiles was like 110% sure that Bentley wouldn't be anywhere near his type since even before the whole alpha thing, Derek had an entity for domination. And although he'd known Bentley for about two and a half minutes, he didn't strike Stiles as the submissive type. And three, this night was supposed to be about Stiles getting some action, and while Derek tended to get his priorities mixed up from time to time, he had made it his personal mission to make that happen.

He made a quick beeline back to Derek, who was looking confused and a little irritated with Stiles being back at the bar. He didn't sit down. He wanted to be free to run just in case Derek tried to punch him, because this…this was definitely something to get punched over. He smiled down at Derek nervously, ignoring Derek's look of distrust.

"We're like best buds right? Pro bros and all…"

"Where ever you're going with this, you better get there quick," Derek replied. He looked _completely_ unimpressed.

"Well you see that big, buff, but surprisingly cute guy with the gray eyes over there? You pushed me into him, which is really like pushing me into a brick wall with legs. Why did you push me in the first place? It wasn't like I wasn't doing what you wanted me to do."

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

"Right. So anyway, Hulk Jr. over there is named Bentley. And Bentley is gay…of course. And it just so happens that Bentley is gay for a certain alpha. And in return for not kicking my ass for spilling his drink all over him, which I shouldn't even be in danger since it's _your_ fault, he wants to dance with you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, look before you say no and rip my balls off, can you at least consider it. I mean it's one dance. It's not like you'll have to sleep with him." Stiles was sure that he sounded desperate and he had no problem with that. He was desperate.

"I'm really fucking confused right now. You want me to do _what_?" Derek asked, voice growing more incredulous towards the end.

"Dance with him. He wants to dance with you," Stiles said slowly. He wasn't sure if Derek understood exactly what he was saying. Stiles chalked it up to Derek really _didn't_ understand what he was saying because the next few seconds passed with Derek wearing a completely blank, unreadable expression. Then he just _laughed_. He burst out into serious boughs of hysterical laughter. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not. In the end he decided to be concerned because Derek must have been suffering from a severe mental snap.

"You are an idiot," Derek replied between gasps. His laughter hadn't stopped completely, and every time Stiles thought he might be done, he started up again. Stiles just stood there; jaw slack with fear in his eyes. He ignored Derek's insult to his genius in favor of being in total shock that this was _actually_ happening.

"Um, okay. I'm gonna just tell him no then." Stiles swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure if the alcohol was affecting _him_ or _Derek_. It had to be himself because alcohol had no effect on werewolves. He didn't think he'd drank that much, but apparently his tolerance wasn't as high as he liked to think.

"He wants to dance with _you_ , idiot," Derek replied, finally calming down. "He's been hitting on _you_."

Oh wow. That was not what Stiles had thought this scenario was _at all._ He was sure that guys like Bentley didn't go for guys like Derek, but for some reason he hadn't pieced together the possibility that guys like Bentley did go for guys like _him_. Logically it made much more sense, but it also made things ridiculously awkward because he wasn't sure if _he_ went for guys like Bentley.

He didn't have much experience in that department. Jackson was his first everything. Well not his first crush or even his first choice, but all of the other firsts cancelled those out. Stiles wasn't sure if he even _had_ a type. Up until Jackson he hadn't even entertained the possibility of dating guys, fleeting fantasies not included, and trying to work out what he'd be attracted to was even more difficult. He would suppose that he'd be attracted to the handsome type. And smart, funny, sweet, sincere; a giant teddy bear. He could see Bentley in that light.

But he still wasn't sold on that completely because he was in love with Jackson.

Jackson, who was only a few points higher in the IQ department than Scott; witty sarcasm not included because that would have automatically boosted Jackass... _Jackson_ to Allison's level or maybe even his own. Jackson who was about as funny as heart cancer; again witty sarcasm not included because that was funny to everyone _but_ Stiles. Jackson who was the exact opposite of sweet and the only thing sincere about him was the fact that he was sincerely an asshole. Jackson wasn't a teddy bear at all. He was more like a _real_ bear; agitated and territorial, all teeth, claws, and power. And yet he loved him.

"You're thinking about this too much. And from the look on your face, you're also thinking about Jackson and it kind of goes against what we are trying to do here."

We? No, not _we_. This was all Derek. Stiles would have been content with just staying in his room and never setting foot near Jackson and Lydia again. But Stiles didn't want to be a quitter. And he definitely didn't want to give Jackson the satisfaction of having hurt him so. He supposed that Derek was right. He needed to stop thinking and just act on instinct. It came easily enough to Scott. _Scott who's a werewolf_ , Stiles reprehended. But it was that type of thinking that made him so… _safe_. He realized that without the werewolf factor in his life, he was boring and plain and he couldn't imagine why Jackson stayed with him in the first place.

Why not change that?

Stiles stood up straight, back erect with new found confidence. He made his way back to Bentley, who'd been waiting oh so patiently for his return. Yet another fact to add to the list of things that Bentley seemed to be and Jackson wasn't. Bentley smiled at him brightly. Stiles managed a tight grin back, but shifted nervously.

"Are you okay?" Bentley asked. He sounded so worried to have just met Stiles and Stiles wasn't sure if he should be flattered or weirded out.

"I'm good, I just…you…You want to dance with _me?_ And not the guy at the bar?" Stiles asked nervously. Bentley looked a little confused, but kept his face in that ever positive, friendly expression.

"I thought I was being pretty direct with it." Well damn. Apparently Stiles wasn't as observant as he liked to believe. He felt like crap and a little bit lost because he had no idea what to do with himself anymore.

"I'm so sorry. I just thought that you wanted…I mean Derek was… You…um I'm gonna shut up now because I'm rambling and that usually gets on people's nerves more often than not." Stiles was almost painfully red by now. He felt like a complete idiot. Bentley chuckled lightly before laying a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay. I find your rambling endearingly cute." Stiles blushed harder at Bentley's sweet tone. He wasn't used to such kind compliments. Jackson's idea of flattery was smacking him on the ass in front of a crowd of people. "Since you're absolutely sure that I want to dance with you now, can we get to the actual dancing part?"

Just as the words left Bentley's mouth, the music changed into a familiar beat. Adam Levine's voice blasted out of the speakers. Stiles let out a squeal of excitement. All of his previous nervousness evaporated and Stiles grabbed Bentley and lugged him out to the dance floor. Bentley followed without a word, yet another thing he could never expect from Jackson.

"Someone's eager all of a sudden," Bentley replied, following Stiles' lead as they began to sway to the music.

"I live for this song! Drop dead gorgeous guy talking about having moves like one of the greatest men in music history? _Awesome!_ "

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles' subconscious brought up the possibility of being a little drunk again because Maroon 5 or not, he was never this bold. Stiles allowed himself to be swept away from the music, alternating between moving his hips to the beat and following the highs and lows of Adam Levine's voice. Bentley followed Stiles' lead, occasionally bumping his pelvis into Stiles'. Stiles let his eyes drop close and his arms rise above his head. This was euphoria.

He felt as though he was floating in air, body gliding effortlessly, much higher than anyone else in the club. He felt Bentley's hand on either side of him, strong fingers gliding gently down from his chest to his waist and back. It tickled a little, but he was so far gone that it barely even registered in his mind. Bentley's touch anchored him, brought his high down a little, but he was lost just enough that it didn't break him free of his fantasies.

In said fantasy it wasn't Bentley latched on to him. It was Jackson. The gentle touch on his sides transformed, gained a roughness that screamed _mine_. Stiles let his head fall back on the Bentley's shoulder, only it wasn't Bentley's shoulder to him. It was Jackson's. Instead of Bentley trailing soft butterfly kisses over his neck, it was Jackson who was sucking and biting at his neck, nibbling on his ear. He vaguely heard Bentley whispering something to him. _You're beautiful._ Jackson would have never said that, and to keep his fantasy true, he changed and distorted the words. _You're mine._

Somewhere in his mind, back there with the voice that kept whispering that he really _was_ a light weight with alcohol, there was another voice that kept insisting that he was doing the opposite of what he should be doing. The goal was to get over Jackson, replace him. There was a hot guy grinding into him, whispering sweet things in his ear, holding him close. He was doing everything that Jackson never did. And yet he was still fantasizing about Jackson, the guy that continuously broke his heart and his spirit. The guy that was probably cuddled up with Lydia in the bed that they'd made love in. Except there was two things wrong with that. Jackson had been with Lydia in that bed first, probably others before and after her. And they never made love. It was never sweet and soft like it would undoubtedly be with Bentley. It was always sex; rough and hard, but just as deeply passionate as it would be if it was tender.

He mentally shook his head. He was thinking too much, getting too distracted from his peaceful state. He forced himself from his thoughts, pulled himself out of them as though they were wet sand. He was able to get free, but the high was gone. He no longer felt like he was floating above them all. He still felt lifted, like he was hanging from strings, dangling comfortable a few inches above the ground.

"Stiles?" Suddenly the strings were cut and he was all but crumbling back to reality. He pried his eyes open and sought out the owner of the voice that interrupted him. He didn't have to search very long. Danny was a few feet away, stuck behind a trio of guys grinding into each other, but still standing out with his exotic look. He looked a little surprised to see him and Stiles chalked it up to him not pegging Stiles as a clubber. It was true.

"Danny, hey." Stiles smiled at Danny shyly. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty at being caught. He had to remind himself that Jackson was with Lydia now, and there was nothing wrong with moving on with his life.

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight. Did you come alone?" Danny asked. He finally was able to break through the crowded bodies, stopping in front of Stiles and Bentley.

"I came with Derek. He's at the bar." Or at least he was, because when Stiles turned around, Derek was nowhere to be found. He didn't miss the interesting little detail that the cute redhead was M.I.A as well. "Apparently he's ditched me for the bartender."

"Oh…who's your friend?" Danny asked, eying Bentley curiously. All words immediately left his brain at that question. He could tell Danny Bentley's name easy enough. But he didn't _want_ to. Danny was best friends with Jackson and while he didn't feel like Danny was a huge gossip, he wasn't dying to introduce his potential hook up. And it wasn't even like Bentley _was_ a friend. Could you be friends with someone you just met?

Stiles didn't completely understand his guilt. It wasn't like he owed it to Jackson to never move on or censor who he was seen with. And Jackson surely wasn't following those rules himself. And yet he felt like he was cheating or breaking the rules. He summed it up to being the fact that not only was this the longest that they'd ever been apart, but this was the first time that he'd even attempted to meet other people. Luckily, God loved him, because at that precise moment, Derek made a comeback. He had a smug look on his face and Stiles immediately knew that at least one of them had gotten laid.

"Where the hell have _you_ been?" Stiles asked slowly. He was aware that Danny was still standing there, eying Bentley uneasily and he was also aware that he hadn't answered Danny's question. He stared directly into Derek's eyes, praying that he would sense Stiles' uneasiness and know what was going on. He knew the exact second that Derek caught on because his eyebrows drew in close together before rising in amusement. Stiles changed his prayer, hoping instead that Derek would actually rescue him and not leave him stuck in this situation. For a second, Stiles was sure that Derek would leave him hanging and soak this up as much as he could. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek's expression went to his default glare.

"This blows. If you want to make it home, you'll come. _Now!"_ Whoa, Stiles had to hand it to Derek. He was really channeling his inner Jackson: _Douchebag_ _Extraordinaire_.

Stiles turned to Bentley, who was teetering on the edge of uncomfortable with being in the dark on what was going on and watching with amusement. He gave him his best puppy face before breaking the news. "I have to go."

Bentley looked as though he expected as much. He shrugged his shoulders before flashing that perfectly nice and sincere smile at Stiles. "Maybe we could meet up again. Watch Teen Wolf?"

Stiles was caught off guard. For some reason he thought that he would dance and have a good time, then break away free. But seemingly Bentley had been serious about their movie date. Stiles was so indecisive. One part of him really didn't want to commit to anything with Bentley, especially within the first hour of knowing him. But another part of him couldn't help but want to milk this thing for all it was worth because when he was dancing with Bentley he felt wild and stress free. Derek must have gotten fed up with waiting because he was suddenly jutting his hand out, an impatient air about him.

"Give me your phone." Bentley didn't know Derek, had no idea who the hell he was. But Derek had such a demanding presence that he obeyed immediately. Stiles could tell from his demeanor that he didn't understand his obedience either and Stiles wanted to comfort him and tell him that there were a lot more people who obeyed Derek too. However, he was unable to do anything other than gawk helplessly as Derek put Stiles' number in Bentley's phone. "Text him. Now come on."

Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles wrist and yanked him forward. The bodies parted immediately and all Stiles could do was look back at Danny and Bentley. He mouthed an apology at them while he could still see them. They disappeared quickly and Stiles let himself, like he could stop Derek if he wanted to, be dragged to the Camaro.

Once inside the comforting caress of soft leather and heat, Stiles let out a breath. This was way more action than he was expecting and none of the action that he was.


	3. The Sex Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a date with Bentley. Derek wants to make sure he's prepared.

"How did things go with that guy?"

Stiles startled at the sudden question. Danny never spoke to him. Well that wasn't entirely true. Danny spoke to him, but that was only when Jackson was in the equation. Jackson, who was sitting a few tables over. He was flirting with Lydia heavily and she was eating it up. Stiles turned his attention back to Danny.

"Who? Bentley?" Stiles asked scooting his stuff over out the way for Danny to sit down. He was sitting alone today. He had a lot of work to catch up on if he wanted to go out without worrying this week. Allison and Scott distracted him. And they were currently sitting with the enemy, and by enemy he meant Jackson and Lydia.

"If by Bentley you mean that hot piece of ass you were grinding with last night, then _yes_ ," Danny replied, sitting down. Stiles frowned. Bentley was handsome, but he wouldn't describe him the way Danny did.

"I don't know. He's nice I guess," Stiles stated with a shrug before returning to his math work.

"You guess?" Danny asked with a frown. Stiles shrugged again, not even looking up from his book while replying.

"He's not really my type. I'm not all that into the big, buff, gym-oholic."

"I'm sensing a resounding _but_." Danny snorted. Stiles was a little irritated that he was so easy to read, but didn't take it out on Danny.

" _But_ times a ticking and I'm all out of options," Stiles answered.

"I'm sorry, what?" Danny asked, confusion muddling his voice. Stiles sighed and closed his book before turning all of his attention to Danny.

"Derek has it made up in his mind that the only way I'm going to get over Jackson is to sleep with someone else. I don't totally agree, but I'm not exactly in a position to argue," Stiles explained.

"So you're whoring yourself out to a guy that you don't even know?" Danny asked. His voice was a little louder than needed and Stiles cringed when Scott, Jackson, Erica, Boyd and Isaac all stiffened at hearing. The worrisome threesome all turned to smirk at him with obvious glee. Scott was looking at him with a look of utter confusion, which was like his default expression anyway. Jackson wasn't looking at him at all and he didn't know if he should be grateful or hurt.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…don't be so loud!" Stiles hissed. He wanted to warn Danny that the wolves were listening, but he wasn't aware of werewolves yet, and Stiles didn't want to be the one responsible when that cat…er dog…got out of the bag. "I'm not whoring myself out. And I'm getting to know Bentley."

"Knowing his last name and his sign doesn't count for intimately knowing someone Stiles." Well, that was bad because technically, Stiles didn't even know that.

"I said I'm _getting_ to know him. We've actually got a date this Friday. He's taking me to the ice rink," Stiles stated matter-of-factly.

"That's incredibly sappy," Danny laughed. Stiles smiled at him in return.

"I think it's kind of sweet. I mean I'm not use to the whole dating thing. Jackson isn't what you would call romantic. And this is a nice change. I'd even say it's better for me." Maybe, it was.

"Better than making up with Jackson?" Danny sounded genuinely curious, but he also had an edge to his voice. It just screamed ' _I'm up to something that you have no clue about.'_

"No offense to your friend-making skills or anything, but Jackson pretty much sucks major ballsack in the dating department. Which is fine, because I'm not looking for candlelit dinners and walks on the beach. But there's a guy who's interested in spending time with me. He gives a shit how I'm feeling. And sure he's no Jackson. But maybe that isn't such a bad thing. He doesn't make me feel like absolute shit." It was true. Danny had to admit that much.

"But still, this is kind of fast," Danny pointed out.

"I agree with you 100% but look at Scott and Allison. They knew each other all of five seconds before they were swallowing each other's tongue. I've basically known Jackson all my life and we spend more time broken up than together," Stiles reasoned. Maybe knowing a person for a long time had nothing to do with being right for that person.

"I just don't want you to do something you'll regret." Danny sounded sincere enough, and Stiles smiled at him.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big boy. I've got to get over Jackson somehow. And maybe Bentley's not my Mr. Right, but he's a good start."

"I guess so." Danny still looked reluctant and unsure. Stiles smiled reassuringly at him.

"Good. Just do me a favor," he said after a while.

"What's that?" Danny asked, eyebrows drawn up. Stiles briefly wondered if hanging with someone for so long made their traits rub off on each other. That was definitely one of Jackson's expressions

"Don't let anyone know that Derek is my pimp." Danny almost swallowed his tongue.

"I thought you said you weren't whoring yourself out."

"I'm not…Derek's doing that." Stiles' grin grew and Danny was looking torn between running and shaking some sense into Stiles.

"That was a joke _right_?" It was a joke, but he wasn't going to tell Danny that. Why not find some type of enjoyment out of all this.

"Later Danny." He gathered all of his books and left Danny sitting at the table, dumbfounded look on his face.

 

*

 

Seemingly Stiles was wrong when he suggested that Danny wasn't a huge gossip. Everyone seemed to know about Bentley by the end of the week. Scott and Allison quizzed him none stop for two days, which was ridiculous because he didn't know two days' worth of information about Bentley. He repeatedly told them that all he and Bentley did was have one dance, but they seemed to think that he was lying about it.

Isaac and Erica made jokes about it none stop. Boyd, the mini Derek that he was, didn't join in on the teasing. But he _did_ smirk it out every time they did. It kind of pissed him off because the only reason that he was even there was to help train them. Talk about ungrateful jackasses. Derek wasn't any help either. It seemed that getting laid mellowed him out to a Bob Marley like state. He'd might as well walk around singing _Red, Red Wine._

Even Lydia and Danny were going to new extremes to find out what was going on with him and Bentley. _Which was nothing._ The most he'd even talked to Bentley was via text. And he really shouldn't have told them that. Before he knew it, they were monitoring his texts and making subtle suggestions on what he should reply back with….at least that was what Lydia was doing. Stiles figured she was only doing it to ensure that her future with Jackson would remain bright. Danny monitored his texts, but never offered anything as way of helpful hints. Stiles figured that he must have thought Stiles was doing a pretty good job. That or maybe he thought Lydia had it under control.

The only person who wasn't hounding him about this was Jackson. He could understand why. Who wanted to converse with their ex about the person they were currently banging? Stiles, for one, did not want to even think about it. He was relieved that Jackson wasn't breathing down his neck, but he was a little upset that Jackson wasn't being eaten up with jealousy. It would make him feel so much better about their breakup if he knew that Jackson wasn't having it easy either.

But Jackson was just so damn cool about everything. It was like he couldn't care less about anything that Stiles was doing and who he was doing it with. It made Stiles want to scream. They hadn't had the best relationship, but there were feelings involved. Stiles didn't understand how Jackson could just let that go with no problem. Where did all that possession go? To Lydia it would seem. Stiles was willing to bet that he wasn't blowing her off to go hang with his friends in the mountains. Maybe he'd been too willing to let Jackson do his own thing. He should have ruled their relationship with an iron fist.

"Stiles?" Stiles blinked several times before turning his attention back to Allison. She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Allison rolled her eyes, but answered him anyway.

"I asked you if you were coming to hang out with us later." Oh that's right. His friends had finally finished ignoring him in favor of digesting each other's tongue and wanted to hang out with him on a Friday.

"I um…I can't actually," Stiles informed. Allison looked surprised and he couldn't help but get irritated at that. He wasn't a total loser. Okay, maybe he was, but that didn't mean that he couldn't branch off and do his own thing every now and again.

"But we haven't hung out in forever," Scott tuned in. Stiles stared at him blankly.

"Whose fault is that?" Stiles asked. Scott had the decency to look guilty. "Besides, it's not like I'm ditching you guys. I kinda already had plans with someone so…" Stiles trailed off, hoping he wouldn't have to explain any further. He really should have known better than that.

"With who? Bentley?" Scott asked. Stiles had to give him points for even remembering Bentley's name.

"Who _gives_ _a_ _fuck_ who it's with," Jackson replied. He plopped down in a chair next to Lydia, who was sitting next to Allison. "We should just be happy he's got someone to hang out with at all." Stiles completely ignored Jackson. He'd gotten really good at that.

"Yeah. He's taking me ice skating," Stiles said, blushing. It was his first date. Lord knows Jackson never took him anywhere.

"That's so sappy," Scott said with a frown.

"Like you haven't done corny stuff with me," Allison stated. Scott blushed and Stiles gagged. "What date number does this make?"

"Um, the first… _ever_ ," Stiles admitted. He was aware of Jackson rolling his eyes, but still pretended that he wasn't there.

"Are you serious?" Allison asked. She shot Jackson a dirty look. "You never took him out on a date?"

"Why would I do that? He gave it up the first fucking night. There was no reason to wine and dine him." Ouch. That hurt like a bitch. Lydia punched him in the arm. "What? It's the truth."

It was the truth. The same night after Jackson had walked up to him and declared him his property, they'd had sex for the first time. It was after a game and Jackson was on an adrenaline high. It was rough and quick with no preparation and neither of them knew what they were doing, and it was possibly the worst that Stiles had ever experienced; not that he had any experience besides Jackson. It got better after that, but there were never any dates or romantic events involved. They didn't even share their anniversary together. Stiles didn't have the key to Jackson's house, although Jackson did have the key to his.

At first he figured it was because Jackson was still healing from Lydia. Then he thought it was because Jackson didn't want to be the first to make such a big step, so Stiles gave him the key to his place. Not that he ever used it. Werewolves had a thing for swinging into windows in the middle of the night it would seem. But even after he'd gotten Jackson a key made, Jackson still insisted on making Stiles sneak into his house…via the balcony. He supposed it could be romantic, but it wasn't. Jackson's mom had prize winning rose bushes planted right on the side of the house where Jackson's room was. Not to mention the fact that there were all sorts of creepy crawlies living in the vines that ran up the side of the house. And Stiles was not the most athletic, so sneaking in was always more trouble than he felt it was worth. But then Jackson would be on him, kissing him as soon as he set foot in the room, and it would all be worth it again.

"That's amazingly cruel, Jackson," Allison reprimanded. Stiles got the mental picture of a mother shaking her finger at her son for eating cookies before dessert, and snorted. It wasn't like Allison's lecturing or Lydia's abuse would change anything, but he could appreciate the effort.

"Guys, really. It's no big deal," Stiles replied, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"It is a big deal. Don't you know how relationships work?" Allison asked. Apparently he didn't because he wasn't in a relationship.

"Seriously, Alley Cat," he stated, using his nickname for her. "I'm a big boy. Sticks and stones guys, sticks and stones."

"If he isn't so bent out of shape about it, why are you guys?" Jackson asked. "Is this a special 'time of the month' thing that all girls have?"

"Okay, you need to shut up right now, because I'm like the dumbest person at the table and even _I_ know that you're going in the right direction to get a beat down," Scott said. Stiles had to give it to him; he could be pretty insightful when he wanted to be. Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything else.

"Do you know what you're wearing?" Lydia asked, snaking her arms around Jackson's bicep. That really wasn't fair. Everyone knew that Jackson hated being touched. Yet here Lydia was holding on to Jackson like the hottest knew accessory.

"Um…t-shirt and some jeans?" Stiles offered as response. Just because he was strictly gay now, if you let Derek tell it at least, didn't mean he'd suddenly grown and affinity for fashion. He still didn't know Prada from Gap, and honestly didn't care to learn. "I let Derek pick my outfit, since he did a stand up job the first time."

" _Derek_?" Scott asked incredulously. "You're suddenly buddy-buddy with _Derek_?"

"Well no offense _asshole_ , but _Derek's_ been there plenty of times _you_ weren't," Stiles defended.

"So is Derek like your wingman now?" Lydia asked. For some reason she had an edge to her voice, like she would want anyone else in the world to be Stiles' wingman but Derek.

"I thought he was the pimp," Danny joked. It was the first thing he'd said sense they started this conversation, and Stiles was relieved to not have to be the one to lighten the mood.

"He's like my pimp/hoe-bro/future roommate," Stiles summarized.

"What the hell is a hoe-bro?" Scott asked. He was still looking like someone spit in his juice, and Stiles rolled his eyes at him.

"Instead of it being 'bros before hoes', its hoe-bro. Bros that get chicks….or dicks…together," Stiles explained. Derek was his hoe-bro…he just didn't know that officially.

"Do you share?" Jackson asked. Stiles ignored him completely and looked to Allison, who had a strange look on her face.

"What's wrong Allison?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. She smacked his hand with a little bit more force than necessary, but immediately apologized.

"It's just that you said Derek was your future roommate. You're moving in together?" she asked. Stiles shrugged his shoulders.

"We decided that we would share an apartment. I can't live with my dad forever, especially with him getting back in the dating scene. And like I said, Derek's my hoe-bro."

"I always thought we'd move in together," Scott replied. His face was contorted into a mixture of sadness and confusion.

"I don't think that would be a good idea bro. I mean you'd always have Allison over and as much as I love the two of you, I'll hang myself if I ever hear you having sex. I'm sure you'd feel the same way about me. Derek's totally cool with it. He might even join in on occasion." So that was a lie. But Derek definitely wouldn't be all weird about it. The explanation seemed to be enough for Scott, and he went back to devouring his lunch.

"When is this happening?" Danny asked. Stiles supposed that Danny was more interested in finding out because Isaac would undoubtedly be spending a lot of time there, and Stiles was sure that Danny had a thing for him.

"Um a little after graduation, I think. We've already found this cool place. It's located right outside of the city, but only a couple of minutes away from the woods. Plus they allow pets, so all of you lucky dogs are invited." Danny snorted out a laugh at that and Stiles figured that he must have thought he meant dogs in the sense of just being guys. If only he knew how scary accurate _'dog'_ was.

"That's so _touching_ ," Jackson teased. Stiles didn't reply back, though he had a witty response just sitting on the tip of his tongue. He was starting to find that it was much more fun to ignore Jackson than go back and forth with him. It also helped that Jackson abhorred being ignored.

"Anyway, I've got to go. I've got homework to finish before my weekend starts. I'll catch you guys later." Everyone called out a goodbye to him except Jackson. Jackson, instead, was sitting there with a frown on his face, more than likely upset that he wasn't getting a reaction out of Stiles.

_He has no idea._

Derek wanted to see him before he went off to meet Bentley. Stiles figured that he was going to give him the _'Go get em' tiger'_ speech. He was so fucking wrong. He would have rather gotten the go get em' speech any day because this was embarrassing and uncomfortable and Derek was really starting to become more like the brother he never knew he wanted instead of his number one hoe-bro. This was the safe sex speech. And Derek was _incredibly_ detailed about everything. Stiles' own dad hadn't been this thorough. He hadn't been thorough at all. He'd just sat there awkwardly for like thirty minutes before gruffly saying, _"Wait until I'm dead a couple of years before you have sex….then wear a condom."_ That had scarred him for a few months.

 _This_ was going to take a shitload of therapy and a couple of gallons of mind bleach.

Derek took the expression _'draw me a picture'_ literally. He drew a _diagram_ …in vivid, colored detail, and wow _was that Crayola?_ And there were 3D models and dolls; and he'd never be able to look at cucumbers the same… _ever_. He tried to tell Derek that he was sure that putting a condom on couldn't be so hard to point that he needed to practice, but Derek wasn't hearing it.

"Up until now you've been having sex with a werewolf. We don't get STDs, but Bentley can and I need to be sure that you know what to do in case he doesn't. Now roll that Trojan over that cucumber before I rip your throat out…with my teeth."

Stiles all but died when Derek moved on to making sure he was thoroughly prepared for the big push. Seriously, even if he hadn't been that big on using condoms, he was really good at stretching himself out. But no, Derek wanted to see his technique. And if that wasn't enough to not want to ever have sex again, Derek moved on to positions and which ones were the best. Either Derek was into some really kinky sex, or he really _was_ batting for the same team. Stiles was praying that his eyes would melt and leak out onto the ground when Derek finally finished.

"I don't think I've ever endured something as mentally and physically disturbing as this," Stiles admitted. He was staring blankly ahead, mouth hanging open in shock.

"You should close your mouth before I decide to instruct you on how to give a proper blowjob," Derek replied, packing his props up into a leather trunk.

"I give great head, thank you very much," Stiles defended, but closed his mouth nonetheless.

"You should be flattered I care enough to be doing this. I didn't exactly enjoy that myself," Derek replied grimly. He got up, hoisting the chest up and over his head, before storing it in the top of the closet.

"You only care about my portion of the rent for that condo," Stiles half-joked. Derek turned around and stared at him with one of his intense gazes. "What?" Stiles asked after a while.

"I care, Stiles. Care enough to buy cucumbers and do this arts and crafts shit I got off the internet. Hell, I care enough to have gotten on the internet in the first place. I fucking _hate_ the library," Derek replied. His face was serious and Stiles felt as though he could cry. As if sensing that he'd just sucked all of the playfulness out of the room, Derek let one of his rare grins slide over his face. "But I love that rent check too. I mean look at my apartment."

Derek's current apartment was really, _really_ crappy, but it was only temporary and it beat actually living in the train station. And the rent was cheap enough. Stiles laughed fully before standing.

"You mind if I use your shower? I'd rather not drive back home just to change." Bentley wanted Stiles to meet him at the rink, thought it was more appropriate that Stiles have his own means of transportation just in case it didn't go well. Derek agreed.

"Sure, but don't use the soap in the green bottle. It's Peter's and it smells like shit."

Peter, former crazy ass alpha that wanted to maul everyone in Beacon Hills, was still kicking. Apparently he just couldn't die; or he _could_ die, he just wouldn't _stay_ dead. With Kate Argent out of the picture, he'd mellowed out a little. Not saying that he was sane, because he was still completely off his rocker, but he wasn't going out of his way to turn teens; a trait that seemed to run in the Hale family. He preferred to stay in the old Hale house, was even rebuilding it in his free time…which he had a lot of. But he still dropped in from time to time when he was tired of bathing in rivers.

Stiles made his way down the cramped hall and into the bathroom. He could understand why Derek was in a hurry to move. Derek was an overall clean person, but this apartment was seriously shitty. The pipes were rusted and the wood was old and creaky. And really, who put _wood_ floors in a _bathroom?_

There hadn't been a shower rod installed in the bathroom, only a broken sliding glass. Derek had to buy a do-it-yourself curtain kit in order to shower without soaking the floor. The tub was by far the cleanest thing in the bathroom. The toilet had permanent brown rings, the sink just as rusted as the pipes, but the shower was relatively clean; which Stiles was thankful for. He just really didn't want to take his socks and shoes off to step in the tub. The floor was seriously gory.

He rethought his decision not to go home, before sighing and sitting on the edge of the tub. Derek could really use bathroom mats, but flat out refused to waste money fixing up the apartment when he was getting ready to move. Stiles tugged his shoes and socks off before swinging his legs over to stand in the tub. Once he was out of danger of his bare feet touching the floor, he finished undressing. He held his clothes in his hands, glancing around the room for a reasonably safe place to put them. After coming up short, he flung them over the shower rod. They'd be wet, but it beat flinging them on the floor.

One thing that he couldn't complain about with Derek's apartment was the water. When the water got hot, it got _hot_. The first time he'd ever used it, he'd nearly given himself second degree burns. After getting the temperature just right, he stood under the spray, enjoying the feel of the water as it hit his skin. He realized that not only had he forgotten a towel, he had nothing to bathe with. He looked around frantically before spotting a damp towel hanging on the shower wall. It was risky; it could either be Derek's or Peters. If it was Peter's, it would be so creepy and weird and disgusting and he might have to claw his skin off later.

He sniffed at it cautiously, smelling the lingering scent of Derek's body wash before grabbing it. It was still disgusting to use because the rag had been _places_ on Derek's body, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He prayed over it and lathered the rag with a random soap, obediently dodging the green bottle. He closed his eyes and began to wash himself as quickly as possible while being detailed and not thinking about the fact that this was a used rag. When he was done he rinsed the rag out, wrung it, and placed it back in its spot. He turned the water up a little more in temperature and cleaned as much of the mental residue of using someone else's rag as possible.

He turned the water off and yanked the curtain back. He looked down at the floor wearily. He really, _really_ , _really_ didn't want to touch it with his bare feet. He entertained the thought of running out the bathroom and onto the carpet in the hall, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. He had the grace of a June Bug and running across a floor naked and wet spelled disaster. He grabbed his socks from out of his shoes and slipped them on. They were wet and felt disgusting, but they were the only thing keeping him from touching that floor with his bare feet.

He ran out the bathroom and back into the living room, where Derek was sitting on the couch still. He eyed Stiles curiously before rolling his eyes.

"There are a couple of towels in the hall closet, genius." Stiles mumbled out a remark of gratitude, before heading to get dressed.

He dressed quickly, having just a little bit of trouble getting his jeans over his slightly damp hips. Once he was done he put on his socks – thank god he remembered a clean pair – and shoes. Derek was waiting for him when he made his way back to the living room.

"Here," he stated, tossing something at Stiles. Stiles caught it by reflex, opened his hand and stared down at the keys in shock.

"These are your car keys."

"Congratulations. You can name miscellaneous items," Derek retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what to say," Stiles replied, still staring at the keys in wonder.

"You should start with _'thank you'_ before I get some sense and take them back." Stiles fingers immediately closed tightly around the metal pieces, as though that would keep Derek from taking them back if he wanted to.

"Thanks man," Stiles replied, swallowing thickly. This was huge. Derek lived, ate, and _breathed_ that Camaro.

"You're welcome. I think it goes without saying that if you bring my car back with a scratch, dent, or so much as a spec of dirt on it, I'll eviscerate you and hide your remains," Derek warned.

"And if I don't return it at all?" Stiles asked.

"You'd better put jet-fueled engines on it and go to another planet because I'll hunt you down and _eat_ you." Stiles believed him wholly. "Now get going because I really want my keys back."

Stiles started towards the door, had actually left the apartment and was standing in the hall before he stopped. He turned around and ran back to Derek. He silently prayed that Derek wouldn't kill him for this, before wrapping his arms around him and engulfing in a hug. Derek went unbelievably still and if Stiles hadn't known any better, he would swear that he was a statue. He didn't let up, didn't stop squeezing until Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles in return. It was awkward, but it was also the greatest hug Stiles had ever gotten besides his dad's.

He let go shortly after and ran off down the hall. He couldn't wait to test drive that bitch.

* * *


	4. Date From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has the worst first date ever.

Stiles felt incredibly awkward the first thirty minutes of the date. On the drive to skating rink, all he could think was _'Holy shit, I'm driving the Camaro…and it's AWESOME!'_ so he didn't think about how this was his first date and how many ways he could screw it up. Now that he was there, Bentley sitting across from him, all he could think about was how easily he could fuck the entire night up. Every time he went to open his mouth and say something, anything that would break the tension, he would get a flash of how horrible things could go if he said something stupid. Bentley didn't make it any better. He just sat there politely, staring at Stiles as though he was some rare jewel. It was unnerving and it _so_ wasn't helping his current dilemma.

"Stiles," Bentley said suddenly. It caught him completely off guard, and he jumped as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Huh?" he asked in what he felt was a rather dumbfounded voice. Bentley smiled at him.

"Is this your first date?" The smile didn't waver, if anything it spread a tad bit wider. Stiles groaned and let his head fall down to hit the table.

"Is it really that noticeable?" he grumbled, face still pressed against the table top.

"A little," Bentley replied and Stiles groaned louder. "It's perfectly fine Stiles. I find it rather cute."

"It's not cute. It's embarrassing and I could die from mortification because you probably think I'm like the world's biggest reject, cause who has never been on a date besides toddlers? And I've spent the last half-hour trying my damnedest not to say something ridiculously stupid to run you away, only to blow it to tiny little pieces because now I'm rambling and I can't stop and….and…would you think any less of me if I burst into hysterically tears? Metaphorically of course, cause I'm eighteen and I so don't cry in frustration anymore."

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you, because you seriously need to breathe before you pass out. Although, I do know CPR, and that could work out in my favor," Bentley said, amusement riddled through his voice. Stiles let out a laugh and Bentley's trademark grin returned. "See, you're loosening up already."

"I just…I really pictured this going differently. Or rather I didn't really picture it at all." At Bentley's confused look, Stiles continued. "Derek, the guy that I was at the club with, let me drive his Camaro."

"That your first time driving it?" Bentley asked. Stiles nodded vigorously.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I've tried to on several occasions. But Derek loves that car more than me. Okay maybe that wasn't a good analogy. Derek loves just about everything more than me. Derek loves that car more than life."

"I don't know. He let you drive it didn't he? That's some serious love. My Dad asked to be buried in his Chevelle," Bentley explained. "Letting me drive it was completely out the question. Although I suppose my tendency to crash and burn didn't help that." Stiles laughed at him.

"I take it you won't be racing in Talladega anytime soon," he asked, resting his chin on his hands. Bentley smirked at him.

"Naw, which is probably in everyone's best interest. I've seen The Final Destination." Stiles stared at him in shock.

"You like the Final Destination series?" he asked. Bentley nodded.

"I've got every DVD. You could borrow them if you'd like," he offered.

"Or maybe that could be date number two…if I haven't scared you away, that is," Stiles replied, blushing heavily. Bentley placed a hand over Stiles' and smiled warmly at him.

"I'd like that." They stared at each other for a second, before Stiles averted his gaze quickly. Bentley may not have been his type, but he had some intense eyes.

"Stiles!" Stiles groaned, and let his head fall back onto the table with a thud. He was going to have a serious headache by the time this date ended. Why was it every time he was with Bentley, someone interrupted him _….the exact same way._

He groaned again, this time louder and more miserable. He knew that voice, grew up with that voice, laughed at that voice when puberty hit. Why, oh why was Scott there? And if Scott was there, then surely….he heard Allison's giggle and picked his head up a little, just to let it fall back down onto the table. He picked his head up and looked towards the entrance. Not only was Scott and Allison there, but the entire gang was there, minus Derek.

Scott was giving Allison a piggy back ride, Allison laughing as Scott made airplane noises. Erica and Boyd – he knew there was something up with the two of them – were holding hands smirking in their trademark way. Danny and Isaac – whoa when did that happen? – were walking close together, talking intimately. And then there was Jackson and Lydia.

"Oh my….God if you love me at all, you'll kill me dead right now," Stiles groaned. This spelled disaster in big capital letters.

"Friends of yours?" Bentley asked.

"I'd use the word "friends" loosely. I'm seriously rethinking that right now," Stiles replied, dropping his head down to hit the table again. "Maybe if we pretend hard enough, they won't see us," he suggested.

"I think it's a little too late for that." Time the words left Bentley's mouth, Scott's heavy hands landed on his shoulders.

"Stiles, my boy! What goes on?" he asked; voice cheery as though it was okay that he was there.

"Why? Why don't you love me God? Is it because I didn't go to Church last Sunday? I swear I'll join the choir if you just zap my problems away. I'll even make it easier for you….there's eight of them," Stiles stage whispered.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Erica asked. Stiles turned to glare at her, and she smiled wickedly at him.

"No," Stiles answered. He turned his back to them and faced Bentley again. Scott plopped down next to him, pulling Allison in his lap. As if by some silent order, everyone else was sitting down as well. Stiles sighed heavily and threw himself back into his chair dramatically. As it would seem, God was busy or on vacation or something because Jackson was sitting in-between him and Bentley. He silently cursed their decision to sit across from each other.

"Well that's just rude," Erica replied. Lydia hummed in agreement and Stiles mentally question why he ever liked her.

"Fine!" Stiles stated firmly. "Bentley, these are my pathetic, stupid, douchebag, dickhead friends who have absolutely no sense of what privacy is. Pathetic, stupid, douchebag, dickhead friends, this is Bentley, the really sweet guy whose date you're ruining. Now leave."

"Nice to meet you Bentley," Allison stated. The rest of the pack gave various greetings, all of them completely ignoring his insults and his order that they leave.

"Nice to meet you all," Bentley replied, smiling politely. Stiles wanted to jump across the table and slap his hand over Bentley's mouth. He shouldn't be polite to them.

"Well at least one of you has some manners," Lydia commented. Stiles growled at her, but she didn't spare him a look.

"Why are you guys here?" he gritted out. Isaac shrugged.

"I got a text saying that everyone was going ice skating. I didn't know you'd be here," Isaac replied. Stiles refrained himself from jumping up and screaming "Bullshit!"

"You mentioned ice skating earlier. We were bored and decided to come and skate ourselves," Danny explained.

"You couldn't have found another rink…like, I don't know, eight states over?" Stiles hissed. Danny grinned good-naturedly.

"It's a big rink, Stilinski," Jackson replied nonchalantly. Stiles wanted to grabbed the back of his head and literally rub it in Bentley's chest while shouting "HAH!" but held himself back. There was a lot of holding back right then. He fought every bone in his body that was telling him to smack Jackson.

"Jackson's right, dude," Scott replied, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Then why am I looking at you? Find your own table," Stiles retorted, removing Scott's hand.

"Have you guys ordered yet?" Allison asked, looking over the menus that were placed on the table.

"Not yet," Bentley replied. Stiles shot him a look as if to say 'what the absolute fuck?' Bentley just shrugged apologetically.

"You guys can order your own food when you're at your own table…across the room," Stiles replied. Allison ignored him.

"I want curly fries, Scott," she replied.

"Oh, me too! With extra ketchup!" Erica stated.

"I want a burger, hold the bun, condiments, and pickles," Lydia ordered.

"What am I, the waiter?" Scott asked, sliding out of his seat. "You don't honestly expect me to remember all of that do you?"

"Playing the dumb card McCall?" Jackson asked.

"Don't worry, Scott. Jackson will help you," Lydia replied. Jackson shot her a dirty look, but got up. Stiles wanted to punch both of them. Jackson never did what he wanted him too.

"You want anything, Stiles?" Scott asked. Stiles shot him a blank stare.

"I've suddenly lost my appetite," he replied nastily. Scott shrugged his shoulders carelessly before leaving, Jackson hot on his heels.

Allison and Lydia immediately started in with the interrogation, questioning Bentley. Bentley shot him a helpless look. Stiles rolled his eyes, contemplating leaving him to his own defenses, before standing up.

"Let's go get our skates," Stiles replied. Bentley all but jumped up.

"We just ordered food," Scott pointed out, coming back to sit down. He handed the numbered ticket for their order to Allison, who pocketed it. Scott would lose it if he kept it.

"That's the point," Stiles said plainly.

He turned to walk away, bumping into Jackson's chest. Whoa, had Jackson put on some extra muscle? Jackson's arms shot out to catch Stiles, and Stiles almost moaned at the sensation. Jackson's grip was just as strong and warm as he remembered it. And Jackson was wearing the cologne that Stiles loved so much. The scent of Polo Blue and just Jackson wafted into his nose and his mouth watered. Jackson wasn't letting go, and he was getting dizzy with the sudden attack on his senses. He righted himself as quickly as possible, mumbling a thank you before rushing to Bentley's side. He refused to look at Jackson and completely missed the look of smugness on his face.

"Your friends are nice," Bentley commented, lacing his skates. Stiles snorted.

"Yeah right. They're as nice as a rapid dog."

"The two girls were…intense. I didn't think they'd tear into me like that," Bentley admitted. He was finished with his skates and Stiles was still struggling with the first one.

" You're the one who was nice to them," Stiles pointed out. "I wanted to send them to Alaska. There's plenty of ice to skate on there." Stiles growled in frustration when his skates wouldn't cooperate. "Defective piece of crap!"

"Hey, just relax. You're going to cut yourself on the blades if you keep doing that," Bentley warned.

"Easy for you to say. There's nothing wrong with your skates," Stiles defended.

"Let me help you." Bentley gently moved Stiles' hands out the way before lacing up his skate for him. When he was done with the left foot, he moved on to the right. "See, not so defective after all."

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled, looking at his hands.

"What's wrong?" Bentley asked. Stiles shook his head, still looking at his hands.

"It's just….I'm sorry about my friends. If I'd known they'd show up, I would have never told them about it."

"Stiles, it's okay. They didn't completely sabotage it," Bentley stated. Stiles looked at him shyly.

"You aren't just saying that? Cause I know firsthand that they can be buzz kills." Bentley laughed.

"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, helping Stiles stand. "Now, shall we go skate? I've been dying to get out there and bust some moves."

"You skate? Like figure skating?" Stiles asked.

"Naw, I used to play hockey. I may suck at driving, but I'm a king on the ice. Think you can handle me?" Bentley asked playfully. Stiles snorted.

"Bring it," he stated.

"There's something you should know about me first though," Bentley commented. Stiles arched an eyebrow at him.

"Besides the fact that you've played hockey and already have a huge advantage over me? What's that?"

"I'm a notorious cheater!" Bentley declared, before stepping onto the ice skating away. Stiles grinned in pleasant surprise before stepping out onto the ice to catch up.

The ice was much more slippery than Stiles remembered. Time his skate clad foot touched the surface, he was down. He scrambled to get up, making up halfway before he was down again. Bentley really was a king on the ice. In no time he was back around in front of Stiles. Stiles was still struggling to get up when Bentley's shadow fell over him.

"What are you doing?" Bentley asked, watching as Stiles tried to pull himself upright using the wall.

"I'm stretching, obviously," Stiles choked out. Bentley laughed.

"Whatever you say," he replied, reaching out to help Stiles up.

"It's my skates. They're defective I tell you." He'd go to his grave swearing that. Once he was up, he made it forward a few inches before he was scrambling to keep his balance again.

"Yeah, blame it on the skates." Bentley let out a hardy laugh as Stiles grabbed on to the wall to keep himself upright. "You look like a baby deer."

"Au contraire," Stiles replied once he was sure that he wasn't going to fall. "This is just a technique."

"A technique?" Bentley questioned. "For what?"

"I use it to take my opponents by surprise," Stiles huffed out. He got his stance ready, making his legs wobble just a bit so Bentley would take the bait.

"Is that right, Bambi?" Bentley inquired playfully. Oddly enough, that wasn't the first time someone had called him Bambi.

"That's right. You see, we have something in common," Stiles replied, looking back and Bentley with a grin. Bentley was standing still, leaning casually against the railing.

"Oh?"

"We're both cheaters," Stiles replied, taking off using the wall as a boost. He looked straight forward, keeping himself focused solely on getting as far ahead as possible. He was going around a third time when he slowed to look for Bentley.

"Such a cheap trick!" Bentley replied as he went buzzing passed Stiles quickly.

He caught him off guard, startled him completely. Stiles scrambled a bit, trying to right himself, but couldn't. He felt as though he was falling in slow motion, and all he could think to himself was 'this is going to hurt like a bitch.' He hit the ice hard, catching the back of his hand on the blade of his skate. He couldn't tell which hurt worst, the cut on his hand or the back of his head as it hit the ice.

"Fuck!" he swore, forgetting about the younger kids skating nearby. He was aware of someone helping him up. He stood, but almost went down again as his head throbbed painfully. His head was definitely the worst.

"I've got you," Jackson whispered in his ear. When did Jackson get there? Jackson lifted him effortlessly, using his werewolf strength.

"Maybe I should carry him," he heard Bentley reply.

"I've got him," Jackson gritted out. He felt Bentley's hands on his side, but couldn't focus his eyes enough to really tell what was going on.

"No offense or anything, but he's dead weight right now, and you don't look like you're gonna be winning the Strong Man competition anytime soon." He felt as though he should reassure Bentley. He trusted Jackson not to drop him more than he trusted Bentley, but that would be hard to explain logically.

"No offense or anything, but it's your fault he's dead weight in the first place so back the fuck up already and let me get him to the table," Jackson hissed. Stiles wasn't sure if it was his head or what, but Jackson sounded concerned….like he cared.

As soon as he was down in a chair at the table, the pack was fussing over him. They were all asking questions at the same time and hissing insults at each other. Man, it was a good thing he was the brains of the pack, because they were shit in high stress situations. They were doing just about everything that they shouldn't be doing to make the situation worst and nothing that they should to make him feel better. He wanted to reassure them, especially when he heard Isaac's whining starting up. Up and down were taking turns switching positions and he couldn't find it in himself to do anything other than groan pitifully.

"Oh my god, he's bleeding," Erica pointed out. Thanks a lot Erica.

The talking got louder and Isaac's whining got more pronounced. He tried to sit up, but Lydia pushed him back.

"Shut up! You're giving me a headache, and I'm not the one who just hit my head!" The talking ceased immediately and Stiles snickered a little. "Let me check him out."

"Are you a nurse?" Bentley asked skeptically.

"No," Lydia hissed. " _But_ I'm smarter than all of you combined." Stiles couldn't argue with her there. Though he couldn't argue at all right now. "The cut on his hand is fine. It's shallow, just a little deeper than a scratch. He won't need stitches for that. I'm more concerned with the head."

"That's what she said," Stiles gritted out. He still had the ability to do that, so he couldn't be that bad off. He tried to recall what he felt when Erica hit him with the part to the jeep before. All he could remember was pain. Okay so that was accurate; pain was definitely a factor here. Erica had knocked him out and she was a werewolf. He was sure that he was fine.

"If you didn't already have a head injury, I'd hit you across it," Lydia replied. The relief was nearly tangible. If Lydia was making jokes, he was sure he'd be fine.

"Stiles, I'm so sorry! I didn't think I'd scare you so bad. But then you fell and I couldn't get to you fast enough. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am," Bentley apologized. Stiles grinned at him.

"Hey relax. If you didn't know, I'm like the biggest klutz ever," Stiles reassured. He turned to the pack. "Can you guys give me a second?"

They all left, rather reluctantly. Stiles was sure that Scott had to basically drag Jackson away, but he had just sustained a head injury and that just didn't seem likely. When they were all out of hearing range, Stiles turned to Bentley.

"I suppose the mood for a date has been killed?" Bentley asked sheepishly.

"Yeah, but if it makes you feel any better, it started to die long before I ever put those skates on. Sorry again about my friends."

"I'm sorry about your fall," Bentley stated. His voice was low and sincere and if Stiles didn't know any better, he'd swear that Bentley was going to beg his forgiveness.

"It's not a big deal." He replied with a shrug. Bentley shook his head, looking Stiles in the eye.

"It is. I'd love to make it up to you."

"I...Bentley…" How was he going to put this in a nice way without seeming like he was upset with Bentley.

"There isn't going to be a second date is there?" Bentley asked. Well, that was one way to do it.

"No. I'm sorry, but I…I'm not over my ex and it just doesn't feel like the right time to move on." Okay, that wasn't the only reason he didn't want to try things out again with Bentley. It just didn't seem to be there, the spark. There wasn't even a tiny flicker of it. The chemistry between them just didn't scream much of anything and Stiles couldn't help, but compare him to Jackson.

"I understand. I figured as much."

"It's not you! I know it's cliché and corny, but it really isn't you. I'm still in love with my ex. I can't commit to anyone before I'm sure that it's over." Maybe he was in denial about everything. Part of him couldn't help but think that it would all be over soon, this thing between Jackson and Lydia, and he'd be back in the picture.

"Hey, it's okay. It's the blonde isn't it?" Bentley asked.

"Who, Erica?" Stiles questioned in return. That was just gross. Erica was like the female version of Jackson without the charm; he couldn't see himself going there even if he was drunk.

"I thought you were gay." Bentley stated slowly. Was he gay? The jury was still out on that one. He'd dated Jackson, but he'd been in love with Lydia for about ten years before that. Even now he could still appreciate a good rack every once in a while. Did that make him bisexual? Or did he just have a love for the human body? All of the thinking was making his head hurt worse and he figured he'd better just stick to gay for right now.

"I am…which would mean that you meant…" He knew exactly who Bentley was referring to.

"The guy that nearly ripped my head off when you got hurt." Bentley didn't look hurt or jealous, just genuinely curious.

"Jackson. Yeah that's him. Grade A asshole and I still love him," Stiles explained. He hoped that Bentley wouldn't ask him why. He still wasn't sure of the answer to that himself. Love was obviously more than blind. It was death and mute and a bit sadistic. Now that he thought of it, blind was the only thing that love didn't seem to be in his case.

"If it makes you feel any better, he loves you too." Stiles was glad he wasn't drinking or eating anything, because he would have choked at that comment.

"I doubt it. He's with Lydia now," he explained, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers grazed over the tender spot and he winced and immediately dropped his hand.

"I know love Stiles. And love is every fiber of him when you're near." Well, then. Bentley was clearly stoned off of something. There was no way that Jackson turned into goo when he was near. Stiles figured that Bentley must have been trying to make him feel better…all the more reason to climb him like a tree.

"I…I don't know what to say. Derek is going to kill me when I tell him that I let you go." Bentley was just about as perfect as they come and there's no doubt that he would have been all for sex.

"You could tell him that we were just too different. And we could always be friends. I do believe I owe you a movie night." Wow, Stiles never figured he'd be hearing the friends speech under these circumstances. But how could he say no to Bentley.

"You're awesome," Stiles replied truthfully. Bentley smiled at him.

"You're pretty amazing yourself Stiles," he stated. "I'll be seeing you."

Stiles watched him walk off, watched what may have been his only chance to get over Jackson leave without so much as a glance back, before sighing.

"I'll be seeing you," he muttered, then went off to kill his friends.

* * *


	5. Lima Bean Ice Packs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles returns the Camaro to Derek.

When Stiles pulled up at Derek's apartment, it was unusually quiet. It wasn't a nice, peaceful kind of quiet; but the serial killer, _someone is walking behind you_ kind of quiet. It was unnerving. Stiles sat in the car for a while, thinking that if a killer was out there hiding in the bushes, he'd be deterred if he thought it was Derek in the car instead of Stiles. After about five minutes he was still very much unnerved, but decided it would be much easier to make a run for it. Running was probably not a good idea, head injury and all.

He got out of the Camaro, closing the door carefully. If the serial, psycho killer had fallen asleep waiting for him, he wasn't gonna alert him by slamming the door. That and Derek would probably hear it and decapitate him. He started his walk to Derek's building, looking around cautiously. After coming up short on his search to find anything out of the ordinary, he relaxed a little. _You're being so stupid Stiles. You hit your head a little harder than you thought._

"Give me the keys." Stiles almost shit himself as the deep growl reached his ears and made him stop walking.

"Derek?" he asked nervously. He looked around, but didn't see Derek anywhere. "If this is some sick joke, you should know that I have a head injury, and this will probably result with you sending me to the E.R." Stiles warned.

He heard the rustle of leaves and turned frantically, looking for the source. He felt a heavy, hot hand fall down on his shoulder and let out an admittedly girly scream. He was turned around quickly. Derek had his default glare firmly in place, though his eyes held a little amusement.

"Don't do that you douche bag!" Stiles hissed. He would have hit Derek if he thought it would do any good. Derek wouldn't feel it though, and he'd probably end up with a sore jaw to go along with his head.

"You hurt your head." Derek stated. Stiles was sure it was supposed to have been a question, but Derek never asked questions. Everything he said was in a matter-of-fact voice that had gotten him dubbed know it all…by Stiles at least.

"I technically didn't do it. Bentley did it. It's a long story," Stiles replied, still in the process of trying to slow his heart down.

"One you'll explain to me. After you give me my keys back." Derek held his hand out, stance one of impatience. Stiles fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Derek. Derek snatched the keys away so quickly that he almost took Stiles' hand with him.

"Jeez, you must have really missed her," Stiles replied, rubbing at his hand. He'd completely forgotten about the cut on his hand, and Derek's roughness caused it ache again. Luckily it didn't start to bleed again.

"I thought about hunting you down and taking her back," Derek admitted truthfully. Stiles snorted as Derek jogged back to the Camaro and started checking over it with close scrutiny.

"I didn't hurt her. I even did the speed limit," Stiles called out. Derek stood up straight and stared at Stiles with that expression that screamed ' _I know when you're lying…even from all the way over here.'_ He grimaced. "Okay, I did the speed limit until I was out of hearing distance of you. Then I gassed it and did a buck fifty all the way across town. I think I might have hit a squirrel, but it was his fault because what kind of dumb animal hunts in the road?"

"You're never sitting your ass in the driver's seat of my car again," Derek huffed out, running a hand over the hood.

"Oh my _god_ man, it was a joke. I'd never hit innocent critters. And I kept the speed at a reasonable 70 mph, which is like three times better than you drive on any given day," Stiles stated accusingly. Maybe that wasn't something that he should be insinuating if Derek was really serious about not giving him the keys again, but he had to plead his case hard if he even wanted to be able to look at the Camaro again.

Derek grunted in a noncommittal way, but didn't say anything else. After he'd checked every single inch of the Camaro, he stalked back towards Stiles. His walk was determined, and just a tad bit intimidating – or maybe a lot intimidating, but it was Derek _fucking-aplha-wolf_ Hale and he'd seen men bigger and badder than him submit – and Stiles felt the instinctive urge to guard his face. He brought his arms up to cover his head, only lowering them when he felt Derek shoulder pass him. He let them drop back to his sides only to be jerked forward by Derek's hold on his shirt. He followed behind helplessly.

"You know, a normal person would have just asked me to come on up. But no, you're not normal and your definition of friendly is not baring your teeth at me," Stiles chastised. Derek completely ignored him. He got to his apartment and threw the door opened gracelessly.

"Dude, you don't lock your door?" Stiles asked, concern etched in his voice. Derek shrugged, throwing his keys in the bowl he kept by the door.

"What's the point? I don't have anything in here worth stealing and if I did, a common thief would never find it," he explained.

"Still, wouldn't you feel…violated?" Stiles questioned. Derek snorted out a humorless laugh.

"I'm a werewolf. The only thing that makes me feel violated is when people encroach on my territory."

"And breaking into your home and stealing what little you do have isn't encroaching on your territory?"

"What happened at the ice rink?" Derek asked, ignoring Stiles question. Stiles took his disregarding him as a sign of victory.

"You want the play by play or would you rather hear the summary?"

"Let's start with the summary. If it's too vague, then I'll ask questions," Derek replied. He practically through himself on the couch and Stiles held his breath for a second, waiting for it to cave in.

"The first half of the date was filled with awkward silence, mostly on the account of me being terrified of saying something stupid."

"Which is always," Derek interrupted with a grin. Stiles glared at him.

"Do you want to hear what happened or not _rudeness_?" he questioned. Derek held up his hands in mock surrender and Stiles continued. "When I finally started to loosen up, the pack showed up. And everything went to hell from there. The girls grilled him and Jackson ended up making me a nervous mess and by the time we actually got to skating, I thought I'd die from frustration and embarrassment. And just when I thought that nothing could possibly get worse, Bentley frightened me and sent me tumbling to what I was sure was my death. I ended up cutting my hand and hitting my head pretty hard."

"How hard?" Derek asked. His voice was rough, but Stiles couldn't place the emotion.

"Hard enough to keep me quiet for a good five or ten minutes. Hard enough for me to be dizzy. Not hard enough for me to pass out," Stiles informed him, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. He felt fine now, so there was no reason to try to wring some type of attention or pity.

"You hit you head and drove," Derek summarized. Stiles nodded. He sounded really concerned and Stiles was surprised by it. Derek usually didn't usually fret over things that had already played out. Stiles was obviously fine, so no need to worry. " _My_ _car_." Well that must have been what he was so concerned about.

"I'm fine, _thank you._ And as you could see when you gave your car a MRI, its fine too." Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek's priorities. He _really_ was fine, and he didn't want the whole fawning thing from Derek. He'd gotten enough of that from the pack. But a little questioning of his wellbeing wouldn't have been so bad. He rubbed at his head a little, pressing at the tender flesh. It was still sore, throbbing slightly just a few inches above his neck. "You have any ice? I should probably do some damage control."

Derek got up and disappeared into the kitchen. Stiles could hear him rumbling around in his drawers and then the freezer. He still hadn't told Derek that Bentley and him had agreed to just stay friends, had purposely left that information out. It wasn't that he was afraid that Derek would be pissed at him, he just didn't want to disappoint him. Though Derek probably would deny it if Stiles asked him, Derek wanted him to be happy. He was one of the few people that actually supported Stiles dating Jackson. Seeing how Derek didn't like Jackson - hated him actually - that was really saying something. But nevertheless, Derek was there for every break up and every tear.

And that was the problem. Derek knew firsthand how much of a douche Jackson was, had coached him through every heartbreak. Derek wanted Stiles to be able to move on, live a life without having to spend countless hours feeling sorry for himself. That was the whole point of them going through the trouble of finding someone for Stiles to sleep with. Bentley was supposed to be the solution for a bad case of _your-boyfriend-is-a-major-dick-itis._ And yet he ended up letting that opportunity go. Stiles was drawn from his thoughts by Derek as he came back into the living room. He had a bag of frozen lima beans in his hands. He handed the bag of beans to Stiles and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

"I think I asked for ice, not dinner," he said jokingly. Derek rolled his eyes, plopping back down on the couch. Stiles absently wondered how much more abuse the couch could take. "When we move in together, you're going to have to learn how to sit down like a normal person." Derek ignored him.

Stiles pressed the lima beans to his tender head and let out a small sigh of relief when the coolness penetrated the soreness. It was quiet, but not uncomfortable and if it wasn't for the fact that he just generally didn't like silence, he would have left it that way.

"I never would have picked you for a lima bean kind of guy," he stated as way of small talk. Derek didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, I guess it's cool that you eat your veggies. Or maybe not, because it feels as though these have thawed out a couple of times. So maybe it's not the fact that you eat lima beans. Maybe you're just too cheap to buy ice packs."

"If you don't shut up, I'm gonna totally gross you out," Derek warned. Stiles was quiet for a second, thinking over Derek's words. There wasn't much that grossed him out anymore. But after almost making him cut off his arm that one time, Stiles didn't put it pass Derek to find something. Yet he still found himself opening his mouth, because silence really got to him.

"I'm gonna take a chance here and keep talking anyway. You should get used to it anyway. I mean we're gonna be living together, and you'll be around my excessive talking all the time. I don't really see why it bothers you so much. It's not like you ever say anything anyway. You just sit there most of the times. Not that I have a problem with that. I just think that-"

"The last time those beans were used, they were on Peter's junk," Derek interrupted. His facial expression didn't change, but his eyes lightened up in the way that Stiles had learned to mean that he was laughing on the inside.

Stiles let the beans fall off the back of his head and on to the floor with a muted thud. His head instantly missed the coolness, but his brain silently told his head to shut the fuck up because those beans had touched Peter's dick. Stiles wasn't sure if Peter would have kept his pants on, but he wasn't going to run the risk of finding out. His hand felt dirty and he had the urge to wash his hair…with bleach.

"Oh my god, you let me put that on my head? Better yet, why the hell did you keep them in the first place? I mean you basically have frozen Peter penis in your freezer 24/7."

"I'm sure all the germs froze and died," Derek replied nonchalantly. Stiles continued to stare at him in shock.

"That's not the point. It's the thought of it really. I mean how much can lima beans cost? You could have easily replaced them. It's disgusting and if I start to grow a werewolf penis out the back of my head, I'm totally blaming you," Stiles replied. Derek snorted, but didn't say anything else.

Stiles was still aware that he hadn't told Derek about Bentley, even with the disturbing thoughts of Peter's dick on his mind…literally. He figured the longer he waited to say something, the worst Derek's reaction would be. But how was he supposed to say it? _By the way, the guy that you wanted me to screw to help me get over Jackson decided that we should just be friends. It was mostly my fault though, seeing as how I told him that I was still in love with Jackson._ He couldn't picture any good reactions coming from that.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking, just spit it out already," Derek grunted, staring at Stiles impatiently. Stiles wanted to ask him how he knew, but figured Derek must have been around him long enough to start learning his habits just as he'd done the same with Derek.

"There isn't going to be a second date with Bentley. As a matter of fact, there isn't going to be an anything with Bentley," he replied after a moment or two.

"Why? Because he scared you and made you bump your head?" Derek's voice held a joking quality to it. _Okay, off to a good start._

"More so because I may or may not have told him things weren't going to work out because I still have a shitload of unresolved feelings for my dick of an ex-boyfriend. Before you say anything, we decided to just stay friends. And he was actually cool with it."

"Stiles," Derek sighed. Stiles could hear the disappointment thick in his throat.

"What was I supposed to do Derek? Lead him on and end up in a relationship that I don't feel anything in?" Stiles asked.

"You weren't supposed to even be talking about a relationship! It was the first date," Derek exclaimed.

"So what, we were supposed to talk about the weather?" Stiles asked jokingly. Derek didn't laugh, didn't even grin.

"You were supposed to make stupid, meaningless small talk about shit that means absolutely nothing. Not that hard to do, seeming as how half of the shit that comes out your mouth is meaningless," Derek shot back.

"Oh right, because you've had so many successful dates," Stiles spat back. It was a low blow, and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. "I didn't mean that. It's just that I don't do dates Derek. And I kinda suck at relationships too."

"It wasn't supposed to be a relationship. It was supposed to be one date, followed by a quick fuck," Derek replied slowly.

"I don't do meaningless sex," Stiles explained. Derek shook his head.

"You don't know what you do. All you know is Jackson. All you _are_ is Jackson. He shouldn't have these holds on you. He doesn't deserve you. And if you could just get it through your head, see that it doesn't start and end with him, it could all be so much better for you."

"I love him. I've tried, tried so damn hard to not give a shit about him, but you can't help who you love," Stiles replied slowly. "I used to laugh at those people, the ones who were so in love that they couldn't see that they deserved better. Now I wish I was one of them. At least they're blind to the fact that they're mistreated. I know that I deserve better, and yet I'm stuck in this one spot, drowning in love that isn't returned."

"I know how you feel. To want someone so bad and have them, but not have them all the same. To love someone who is incapable of loving you back. But there is life after that. If I could move on, trust and love again after being hurt and broken, so can you. I know that you don't think so, but you're so damn strong Stiles. You have the most fight I've ever seen in you. And I wish that you could see it."

"I'm sure that I will move on. But right now, I can't. I just….I can't let go until I know for sure that this is end." Derk rolled his eyes in frustration at Stiles' words. "I know that you don't like Jackson. I can understand why. He isn't the nicest person. He's mean and cynical and cryptic. He doesn't show any emotion and he seems to be the most selfish person in the world. But there are times when he's open. There are times when he can be so sweet and gentle that you'd never guess it was the same guy. And I know you've probably never seen that side of him, but it exists. He's so insecure and soft on the inside."

"Stiles you can't fix everyone," Derek replied.

"I know. And I don't want to fix him. I like him broken. As horrible as that is, I'm in love with him because of who he is now," Stiles replied with a shrug.

"I long for a time when you can be in a relationship and not have to deal with this type of thing," Derek admitted.

"Me too," Stiles agreed. "But I also believe that there is someone for everyone. You said yourself that I'm strong. Jackson needs someone who can be soft for him, so he won't have to be. He needs someone with a tough skin. I think I'm that for him."

"Even the toughest metal erodes when facing a lifetime of harshness Stiles. I just hope you have a good repair man for when the acidity that is Jackson gets too you," Derek replied.

"I'd like for you to be my repairman," Stiles replied with a smirk. Derek snorted and threw a couch pillow at him.

That was the relationship that they had. They could talk about the deepest, darkest things and then bounce back as though nothing ever happened. It was strange in a way. Stiles always thought that he'd have that kind of relationship with Scott. Scott was good for a lot, but he wasn't much help in the talking department. It was nice, refreshing to have someone that he could communicate with on a deeper level. It kept him level, sane, and it helped Derek learn to trust again. If Derek never trusted another soul, it was kind of okay because he had Stiles.

"I'm gonna head home," Stiles stated after a while. "It's getting late and 18 or not, I'm still living under curfew until after graduation."

Stiles got up and walked to the door. Derek didn't move, just grunted as way of a reply. Stiles snorted and went to pull the door closed when Derek turned to look at him.

"You owe me, by the way," he replied, staring directly into Stiles' eyes.

"For?" Stiles asked, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

"For using my bath cloth…which is totally disgusting," Derek finished. Stiles choked and sputtered. Derek got up and moved to the door. He pushed Stiles out into the hall and stood in front of the doorway, using one of his feet to keep the door still as he leaned on the opposite side.

"How did you even know that?" Stiles asked once he'd gotten himself together.

"An alpha has his ways," Derek replied. He shut the door, but Stiles still heard his laughter as he walked down the hall.

* * *

Once Stiles got home, the first thing he did was plug his phone up. He really needed to invest in a car charger. Or get a new phone with a longer battery life. The second thing he did was get a proper icepack for his head. Luckily his dad wasn't home yet, and Stiles was hoping he wouldn't have to go through the embarrassment of explaining what happened to him. His stomach growled as he leaned against the counter, and he remembered that he hadn't had a chance to eat was rummaging through the fridge when his dad came in.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Stiles jumped, hitting his already sore head on the fridge's roof. He let out a soft curse, his father laughing at him, and put the icepack back on his head.

"When did you get here?" Stiles asked, resuming his food search in the pantry. He found a bag of Doritos and let out a yelp of happiness.

"I've been here," his dad replied. He snatched the bag from Stiles and grabbed a handful of the cheesy nachos for himself before giving the bag back to Stiles. Stiles thought about pointing out that he shouldn't be eating them, but decided to turn a blind eye.

"I didn't see your car," Stiles pointed out.

"I'm not the one with a curfew, you know. I'm allowed to come and go as I please."

"Totally unfair," Stiles grumbled around a mouth full.

"You can give me a curfew when you decide to pay the mortgage," his dad huffed. Stiles held up a hand in submission. He'd have enough responsibilities when he moved in with Derek. "The car's in the shop. Engine died on me this morning. I rode my bike out on my errands."

Stiles had forgotten about the Harley Davidson that his father had stored away in the garage. He never really rode it; didn't have a chance to between working at the station and caring for Stiles. At least that's what he said. Stiles figured it had more to do with the fact that his mom had gotten his dad that bike as a Christmas present the year that she died. He kept it up though, working on it during his spare time just to store it back in its spot, hidden away from him and the rest of the world.

"How'd she run?" Stiles asked.

"Like a dream," the sheriff replied.

"Cool. Derek let me drive the Camaro tonight."

He didn't keep secrets from his father anymore. It was exhausting; and quite frankly, the sheriff had less to worry about when he knew that there were werewolves patrolling Beacon Hills too. Therefore his dad knew everything, including Derek's story. While he wasn't happy that Peter was still alive and kicking, or that Derek had turned a group of teenagers into werewolves that sometimes had homicidal tendencies, or the fact that Stiles was always surrounded by supernatural beings that could kill him or turn him, he could breathe easier knowing that Stiles was protected…somewhat at least. Plus it made him feel better about Stiles moving out.

"Really? Is he sick or something?" he asked curiously. Stiles could see the seriousness etched in his face.

" _No_. I had a date, and he gave me the keys as way of transportation. Although I don't think I'll ever be driving it again. Derek fretted the whole time I was gone." He didn't mention the head injury, figured he'd have to explain that a little later anyway.

"Wait a minute, don't speed through that like you didn't just say you had a date. With who and where?" the sheriff asked.

"God dad, it was a _date_. I didn't get married or anything." Just hurt.

"Details," his dad demanded.

"His name is Bentley. He's 21. Works in construction," Stiles explained.

"What's his last name? I can run a background check," his dad stated.

"You don't have to do that! It was one date. Scott and the rest of the pack sans Derek crashed it anyway. Not that it would have mattered because we were at the very public, very crowded skating rink. And we decided to be friends at the end of it so, no problem," Stiles replied.

"I'm guessing that head injury is due to the fact that you put on ice skates then," the sheriff summed.

"How could you possibly know that?" Stiles asked.

"I'm a cop. It's my job to notice things and piece them together with a story. That would also explain the cut on your hand." _Guess I got my awesome observation skills from dad._

"I guess this means I don't have to go over the embarrassing details," Stiles stated. He'd completely demolished the Doritos. He crumbled the empty bag up and threw it away.

"No, you're still gonna fill me in on that, but not tonight." Stiles groaned at that. "I'm guessing since you had a date, that means that it's the absolute end of you and Jackson."

Stiles' dad was the only one besides himself that believed that there could be a future with Jackson. Stiles believed it had less to do with the fact that he liked Jackson – because he really, _really_ didn't; thought Jackson was the biggest asshole in the world to be honest – and more to do with the fact that he'd been a little like Jackson when he was young. He and Stiles' mom had been much like Jackson and Stiles. He was popular and arrogant; Stiles' mom was shy and reserved. Their relationship had been awkward at best, and they were always breaking up for one reason or another. The fact that they'd survived and ended up married with a kid was nothing short of a miracle. Stiles briefly wondered if dysfunctional relationships were a genetic kind of thing that ran in his family. It gave him hope that hime and Jackson would pull through though.

"I wouldn't say we're down for the count yet…just don't count too fast," Stiles replied.

"You know I support you and your relationship 100%, but are you sure that Jackson's the one you want. I mean its high school. You get to date around and explore your options. There's nothing wrong with keeping an open mind. You don't have to make any major decisions."

"I know dad. I just know with all my heart that Jackson is the one I'm supposed to be with. He's my mom." The sheriff smiled sadly at the words.

"Does he know that?" he asked.

"If he does, then I may have to rethink my decision," Stiles responded. The sheriff clapped a hand down on Stiles' shoulder.

"You know, high school relationships don't usually make into the first year of college."

"I know. But Stilinski men have never been one to follow along with statistics," Stiles grinned.

"It _would_ make one hell of a wedding story," the sheriff laughed. "I'm gonna call it a night. Don't stay up too long."

"It's Friday dad. Don't tell me I have a bed time too," Stiles half joked.

"No, no bed time. But that doesn't mean I can't make a heavy suggestion."

Stiles watched his father go up the steps, wiping tiredly at his eyes. He went up to his own room soon after, cleaning the kitchen before deciding to retire for the night. His bed was whispering at him, beckoning him closer, but he decided to shower first. It was refreshing to be in his own bathroom where he knew exactly which soaps to use and had his own towels and rags and didn't have to worry about putting socks on to step out onto the floor. The water was refreshing, and it helped relieve some of the ache that had built up inside his skull. He still decided to take a Tylenol when he got out the shower. He threw the tablet back, chased it with a little water and started brushing his teeth.

He let his mind wander back to what Bentley had said about Jackson. It didn't seem very likely that Jackson would have any emotion on his face, let alone love. And it took years of practice to tell what Jackson was thinking; sometimes he still didn't know. There was no way that Bentley would have been able to decipher the peculiarity that was Jackson. He opted to let it go. Jackson was as complex as they came and he'd give himself gray hair if he tried to figure out what was going on inside his head.

He made his way back to his room. The bed was practically screaming at him now and he couldn't ignore its call anymore. He checked his phone for messages. There were two missed calls and ten texts. One missed call was from Scott. The other was from Jackson, which surprised the hell out of him. What the fuck was the world coming to? Jackson never called him, always texted or waited until they were face to face. He stared at his phone, unsure of what to do. If he called back, there was no guarantee what would happen. Jackson would probably be sleeping, unless Lydia had gone home with him. He decided not to return either call. Scott couldn't have wanted anything too important. And Jackson…well that call had come in over thirty minutes ago. Stiles knew from personal experience that Jackson tended to change his mind often. Whatever he may have wanted then, he surely wouldn't want now.

The texts were from the pack, one for each member and one from Bentley and Danny – who technically wasn't officially part of the pack seeing as how you can't be a part of something that you don't know exists.

 _ **Bentley: Srry again about ur head… & ur hand.**_ Stiles typed a quick reply. _**It's fine. No hard feelings.**_

The texts from the pack and Danny were all apologies for intruding on his date and his injury. He sent them all a mass text telling them they were forgiven. Then there was Derek's text telling him to be careful on the drive home. A little too late to respond to it or even follow its directions.

Then there was Jackson's text.

_**Jackson: hope ur ok** _

It was only three words, didn't even have punctuation. And yet it might as well have been a three page letter. It meant more to him than any of the others, even Derek's. It wasn't anything personal about it, but it made his heart pound. Maybe Bentley had been right about Jackson. Maybe he was in love with Stiles, cared a bunch for him. He'd run out on the ice to help him. He'd sent him this lovely impersonal yet personal text.

Or maybe Stiles was just hopelessly smitten. Maybe it had been reflex…instinct that made him run out there to Stiles' aide. Maybe it had been the pack that pushed him to do it. Maybe Bentley had mistaken Jackson's look of one of pack loyalty. Maybe the pack had pressured him to text Stiles. It didn't explain the call, but Stiles really wasn't trying to think too hard about it. Maybe it was all one big coincidence.

Maybe he should have taken the Advil PM because sleep was definitely not going to visit him anytime soon.


	6. Pack Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has to sit through the most uncomfortable pack meeting ever.

It's safe to say that Stiles isn't much of a physical guy. Well, he could be…if he could actually get some field play in lacrosse – or some more field play. Every time he brought up the one game he did play, the only thing people would remember was Jackson supposedly dying…which sucked ass – …or if he were a werewolf. But he isn't a werewolf and he hasn't set foot on the field other than to collect the discarded equipment.

With that being said, he's not sure why he agreed to do this hike with Bentley.

Granted he's run from crazy hunters, werewolves, teens and then the kanima. But that was all with the guide of adrenaline and fear of actually losing his life. His life isn't on the line right now though. Unless he counted the fact that he's gonna need a heart and lung transplant by the time this ends.

To make matters worse, he was not dressed for this kind of thing. He'd come with every intention of watching movies. But Bentley, whose memory was apparently worse than Scott's, had been dressed to go fishing and asked Stiles if he wanted to come with him instead. Stiles could do fishing, it was something he did with his father in the spring and summer. Because he was just going fishing, he decided that there was no reason to change. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It was his favorite shirt and a pair of new jeans, but he didn't expect to be standing thigh deep in swamp water….nor did he expect to be trekking through the jungle to get to said swamp.

"When you said we were going fishing, I pictured a dock and flat land or maybe even a boat. I didn't think you'd be dragging me through the rainforest to get to a swamp. You forgot to mention that. And the bugs. Come to think of it, you forgot to mention a lot. Like the fact that the pond you told me about is actually a swamp," Stiles panted. After he finished his rant, he regretted starting it because that was precious oxygen he'd never get back.

"This place has the best largemouth bass in the state," Bentley explained calmly. Stiles had to strain a little to hear him because Bentley was like a fucking freight train, knocking brush out the way and swatting bugs away with his large hands.

"Yeah, but it's a swamp. It also has alligators," Stiles muttered. This was by far the dumbest thing he'd ever done. His converse had about as much friction as flip flops and he kept slipping and stumbling over anything and everything.

"We're almost there," Bentley said, his voice much too bright for Stiles. Unless Bentley wrestled alligators as a hobby, they were walking into death.

By the time they reached the swamp, Stiles was sweating profusely, his shirt stuck to his body. His shoes were ruined and his jeans had tears in them. The swamp was big and disgusting looking. The rocks were damp and covered in mud and moss, but he didn't care. He was aching and sore in places that usually required the help of Jackson's cock to feel. He felt a lot like Scott used to, pre-wolf of course, when he used to have asthma attacks. Bentley looked at him with pity and a look that said he was about to say something that Stiles wouldn't like.

"We have to keep going," he said. Stiles groaned and looked around slowly.

"Going where? If we go any further we'll be walking through the swamp." At the look that Bentley gave him, Stiles shook his head briskly. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. You want me to go trekking through a swamp?"

"Actually, this is a bog," Bentley replied lightly.

"It's the same fucking thing!" Stiles hissed. Bentley shrugged apologetically.

"You'll have to be careful crossing. It looks shallow enough, but there are some really deep parts hidden in there. It can drop to up to 15 feet suddenly."

"So not only do I have to be cautious of being eaten," Stiles stated. "But I have to be cautious of drowning suddenly too?"

"It's really not as bad as you may think. And I'll be there to help you out if you need it," Bentley replied.

Stiles sucked in a breath and followed Bentley into the water. It was terribly murky, and Stiles hated that he couldn't see anything in front of him. Bentley was moving slowly, but Stiles had never done this type of thing before and he stumbled clumsily behind. At one point he could swear that something wound around his leg tugged. In a moment of panic, he let out a terrified cry and ran forward. In retrospect, he probably should have listened to Bentley's warning about depth. One moment he was running for his life, the next he was under water and had no sense of which way was up. Bentley's hand tangled his hand in Stiles' shirt and yanked hard. Stiles came up coughing, still panicking.

"Are you okay?" Bentley asked frantically.

Stiles nodded, unable to find his voice. He was still coughing, but more so from the thought of the nasty water getting in his mouth. Bentley hauled him up to the shore, pulled him on the bank and started slapping him on the back. Stiles appreciated the gesture, but Bentley's hand was heavy and the constant contact made his back sting. He moved away slightly, trying to be as nice as possible about it.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just give me a second," Stiles huffed out. He breathed slowly, trying to catch his breath. He felt a weight in his pocket and swore as he fished his phone out of his pocket. He'd completely forgotten his phone was on him.

"You kept your phone on you?" Bentley asked. Stiles took a deep breath to keep himself from saying anything hurtful. Bentley was a really nice guy, but he wasn't really helping the situation.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that we'd be trudging through the swamp when I decided to bring my phone," Stiles replied. He wasn't really that upset about it. This gave him the opportunity to get a new, better phone. He was just irritated overall with this whole day. He would rather have stayed home and watched movies all day than do this. "I think I'm just gonna go home."

"I could take you back, if you want," Bentley offered. Stiles wasn't stupid. He could tell that Bentley was just as upset and irate with Stiles as Stiles was with him. He could understand why. Stiles had popped up at the worse possible time. Then all he'd down the whole hike up was complain. The only difference between Stiles and Bentley at this point was the fact that Bentley was such a nice guy, he couldn't be mean.

"That's okay. I've already ruined this enough," Stile replied. Half of him expected Bentley to insist anyway. He didn't, just nodded in understanding and waded back into the water. Stiles sighed in frustration as he made his way through the think underbrush on the way back to their cars.

It was a good thing that Stiles had driven his own car. The ride home was uncomfortable. He was wet and smelled and he really didn't want to explain to his dad why he needed a new phone.

When he pulled up, he was met with the sight of Derek's Camaro. He exited the car and made his way to the Camaro slowly. Before he could get to the car, Derek hopped out, grabbed Stiles by his arm – he seemed to do that a lot – and yanked him back to the jeep. He pushed Stiles into the driver's seat and he got in on the other side.

"Um…wanna tell me what's going on?" Stiles asked.

"You would know if you looked at your phone. I texted you, but I got no reply," Derek responded. Stiles fished his ruined phone out of his pocket and tossed it in Derek's lap.

"It's busted."

"What happened?" Derek asked inspected the android.

"I went fishing with Bentley. Or I was supposed to have gone fishing with Bentley, but he had me swimming through swamps. Something wrapped around my leg and I panicked. I ended up falling," Stiles explained. Derek laughed at him.

"You do realize that it was probably just reeds or something right?" he asked, giving Stiles his phone back.

"Or it could have been a snake about to swallow me whole," Stiles defended.

"Why is it that every time you hang out with Bentley, something happens?" Derek inquired. Stiles shrugged in response. He'd noticed that too. If someone wasn't interrupting, he was falling down and getting hurt.

"Yeah, yeah… Now can you please tell me why you're kidnapping me?" Stiles asked.

"Pack meeting," Derek answered.

That made sense. They hadn't had one in a couple of days, so it was only a matter of time before they were all called in. Stiles started the engine and drove off, making his way to the wolf den. Then it dawned on him.

"Jackson's gonna be there!" he exclaimed. Derek looked at him with a blankly.

"He's a werewolf. And he happens to be pack, as much as I hate that. So yes, he's going to be there at the pack meeting for werewolves. Good job figuring that out," Derek retorted.

"I can't go if he's going to be there!" Stiles explained.

"You both are pack. And even if you weren't, Beacon Hills is really fucking small. You'd see each other at school. Or any other dumbass place teenagers hang out."

"You're missing the point," Stiles reasoned.

"And the point is?" Derek asked, his tone giving away how unimpressed he was.

"I can't let Jackson see me like this!" Stiles cried.

"A live?" Derek asked.

"I'm disgusting. I'm wet and sweating and if I let him see me like this, it goes against every stupid thing I've ever done to make him think that I was perfect in the hygiene department."

"What?"

"I got up at the ass crack of dawn every day to make Jackson think that my morning breath smells like Crest. I'm not going to ruin that by showing up at a pack meeting looking like this." That was really saying something. It was incredibly hard to sneak pass a werewolf to brush his teeth at 3 and 4 in the morning, but Jackson slept like a rock.

"What about lacrosse?" Derek asked.

"I'm like on permanent bench duty. I don't get ridiculously sweaty and what not," Stiles replied.

"Well it's too late to go back and change. And we're heading to the Hale house today. Peter finished the renovations and wants to show us." Derek didn't sound to happy about that.

"How are you feeling about it?" Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.

"It doesn't bother me that he fixed the house. It just bothers me that he wouldn't let me help."

Stiles could have told him that the fire wasn't his fault. But he'd be lying. In a way the fire was Derek's fault. He fell for Kate, let her manipulate him, showed her all the secrets of their house. He'd been a stupid kid though. And Kate was just fucking insane on so many levels. Derek had enough people telling him that he wasn't responsible. He didn't need the pity from Stiles too. That was the beauty of their relationship. They could be real with no bullshit. They could count on the other to be brutally honest, because it was something that they both needed.

So Stiles didn't bother telling Derek that Peter didn't hold him personally accountable for the demise of the Hale house and majority of its residents. Truth be told, Stiles wasn't sure if Peter blamed Derek or not. Peter was pack only because he needed to be. He didn't share a particularly remarkable relationship with any of them other than Derek and occasionally Boyd. Not that Stiles was jealous of that. Peter still freaked him out on so many levels. And he apparently had a thing for younger guys. He wasn't surprised to hear that when Derek told him that Peter fancied him in a less than appealing way. Though that warning would have been lovely if it had come before Peter prepositioned him that night.

"At least it kept him busy. And maybe that was his way of dealing."

"He's had years to deal," Derek responded gruffly.

"There are so many things wrong with your argument. Firstly he had years to create and execute an elaborate plan of revenge. Technically getting even doesn't qualify as dealing. Secondly, and I think this is the biggest one, he's a Hale and it seems to run in your blood to not deal with your problems. It's like I've surrounded myself with people who just can't deal," Stiles ranted. Derek snorted.

"Yeah, because you have such a great way of dealing with your problems."

"But this isn't about me so your point is irrelevant in this conversation. I do believe this is about your family's inability to cope with life changing events. I'm sure they have special support groups for that." Stiles laughed at the thought of Derek and Peter sitting in a circle, surrounded by strangers.

"Says the self-conscious freak who is afraid to let his ex see him sweaty," Derek retaliated.

"Oh that was such a low blow, even for you. But I'll overlook it because my comebacks are hard to compete with," Stiles huffed. Derek rolled his eyes.

"I think that bump to the head damaged the part of your brain that controls your ego," he shot back. Stiles chuckled at him. Derek wasn't usually this relaxed, especially before a pack meeting.

"If by damaged you mean enhanced, then yes…yes it has," Stiles teased. Derek rolled his eyes again and Stiles resisted the urge to tell call him out on it. Hanging around teenagers was starting to have an effect on his responsive gestures.

"Whatever freak."

"Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black," Stiles tsked.

"Isn't that backwards?" Derek asked, voice riddled with confusion.

"What?" Stiles asked in return. He glanced over at Derek. Derek was staring back at him.

"I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the kettle calling the pot black." Stiles rolled his eyes at the seriousness in Derek's voice.

"What fucking ever, dude. They're both black ergo there is no wrong way to say it. Besides, it all boils down to the fact that you calling me a freak is a little hypocritical," he replied.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." At first Stiles thought that Derek might have been being sarcastic, but after a few seconds of Derek staring at him curiously, he knew that

"I'm talking about the fact that I still have nightmares about our "sex talk". No one provides the type of therapy I need for that by the way. You're definitely a little kinky Derek. Did your cute redhead teach you that?" Stiles informed him. Derek snorted.

"Andrea, and no she didn't." Stiles raised his eyebrows at hearing that.

"Andrea? Fits her. Who taught you then? I should get some lessons." He mentally went over the list of girls that Derek had been out with since their bromance. The list was small and it didn't take very long for him to come up short.

"Kate was good for one thing." Stiles was quiet for a second. He had to be careful approaching this one. Derek didn't often joke about Kate, although he'd been doing it more frequently lately.

"Well damn. Bitch may have been cray cray, but I guess she did do some good," Stiles replied after a while. Derek looked at him incredulously.

"Cray cray?" he asked, eyebrows resting high on his forehead. Stiles shrugged.

"You should definitely start saying that. I'm trying to get it to trend in Beacon Hills."

"I can see why it's not," Derek responded.

"All the cool people say it," Stiles replied. Not that he knew any cool people. Beacon Hill wasn't exactly drawing in A listers.

"Cool like who?" Derek asked. He must have been thinking the same thing as Stiles.

"Jay Z and Kanye for starters." Okay he was just grabbing blindly with those. Hopefully Derek wouldn't call him on it. That was highly unlikely. He was proven right when Derek responded to him.

"Both of whom are rappers and have enough credentials and money to get away with stupid shit. And I'm pretty sure they only use one cray." Well damn. Derek knew more about pop culture than he thought. It was weird because Derek didn't even own a TV yet.

"Is it weird that I'm having this convo with you? I never pictured this scenario in my head. That's really saying something, cause I picture thousands of random scenarios a day." Granted most of his mental scenarios made absolutely no sense.

"You're so weird," Derek replied slowly. Stiles laughed. As if he wasn't used to hearing that on a regular.

"You love me anyway," he replied.

"Get out the car." While Derek didn't give an answer in reply, Stiles wasn't lost on the fact that he didn't flat out deny the accusation. He was getting somewhere with him now. This time next year, they'd be dishing out bro hugs on a regular.

"You can't put me out of my own vehicle. That goes against every rules and regulation book ever made for drivers giving bum rides." Derek looked at him long and hard. He was wearing his default glare that pretty much screamed that he didn't give a damn about rules.

"Get your ass out of the car before I rip your seat out." It wasn't spoken, but growled. Stiles didn't even think about arguing.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, don't be such a bitch," Stiles rebuked. Derek just smirked and got out of the jeep, slamming the door behind him. He was quite a bit ahead of Stiles, but he still heard Derek's reply as it echoed through the forest.

"That's what I thought."

They were the last ones there. Even Scott had beaten them, something that almost never happened. Stiles shifted uncomfortably as everyone eyed him curiously. On the ride over he was able to temporarily forget his untidy appearance. Now, standing in front of the entire pack, all he could think about was how disgusting he must look…and smell. He willed his eyes not to find Jackson, but they didn't listen and immediately found him. He was sitting next to Lydia, surprisingly; but that was the last thing one Stiles' mind. Jackson looked absolutely delicious.

He was wearing a dark blue v-neck that made his eyes pop. He'd certainly put on some more muscle over the time that they'd been broken up – how long had it been now? Three months? – and he filled the shirt in ways that had Stiles wanting to tear it off with his teeth alone. He tried to stop the wave of arousal that hit him, but was unable to. He wanted to pretend that Jackson hadn't noticed, but found it impossible to do so when Jackson closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

Jackson's nose twitched the tiniest bit, nostrils flaring slightly. It almost looked as though he was stretching kinks out his neck, but Stiles knew all of Jackson's habits, werewolf and human. He'd spent countless hours studying them, even before they became a couple. He knew the moment he'd been caught because Jackson went completely still and stared him down with an unreadable expression. Stiles cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly filled the room and went to address everyone.

"Sorry about the delay. My phone's busted. Had no idea there was a pack meeting." Scott cocked his head over to the side and Stiles had to bite back the comment about how similar he was to a puppy.

"It was working fine this morning. What happened to it?" It was an easy enough question to answer and yet the hardest one that anyone could have asked.

He'd purposely avoided talking about Bentley around the pack. Just mentioning his name put everyone on edge and made things awkward. He personally didn't understand what everyone's beef was with Bentley. He had been nothing but nice to them, even after they'd made his and Bentley's date crash and burn. He figured it must have been because he was a stranger and none of them knew very much about him other than what Stiles had told them. Or it could have been because of the whole skating incident, though he didn't really get why they'd be made with Bentley. He was the one with no grace. All of that said, he kept the time he spent with Bentley completely separate from any and all things pack. The only one who knew a play by play was Derek, but only because he demanded to know what was going on in all aspects of Stiles' life.

"I had an incident with some water and what may or may not have been an anaconda," Stiles replied. He worded it carefully, making sure to leave out Bentley's name. He doubted that they'd accept that answer, but hoped anyway. His hoping did no good.

"What are you talking about?" Erica asked unenthusiastically. Stiles resisted the urge to throw his dead phone at her. It would have been a better use then than it was serving in his pocket.

"I went fishing with a friend. I accidently fell in the water, okay," he snapped.

"What friend?" Allison asked.

He wanted to ask her why she was even there. She counted as pack only because Scott insisted on it, but Derek never let her attend the meetings. He still didn't trust the Argent blood that ran through her veins and she still silently blamed him for her mother's death. He was surprised that Derek hadn't kicked her out. One look at Derek's face and he could tell that he really wanted to. He thought about just ignoring her, but the question had already been asked. It had undoubtedly planted curiosity in everyone's brain. He figured most of them suspected. He didn't really have friends outside of the pack, save for a few classmates here and there.

"Bentley," he muttered.

He could feel the tension in the air thicken. He purposely didn't look in Jackson's direction, didn't want to see what expression he was harboring. Jackson was becoming harder and harder to read these days. Stiles summed it up to being due to the amount of time they'd spent apart. It would seem that in order to understand Jackson consistently, one needed to be around Jackson consistently. He was grateful when Derek cut in and officially began the meeting. The entire meeting was spent with his head down, only answering when absolutely necessary. He could feel eyes on him. He knew it could be anyone, but his gut told him it was Jackson. He wanted to look up and meet his eyes, but didn't have the courage to do so. Instead he played with his fingers and prayed that this meeting would be a short one.

Short ended up being an insufferable two hours. As luck would have it, not only were there new hunters in town, but another pack had been wandering dangerously close to the borders they had set up. Derek wasn't sure what the other wolves were up to or what the hunters had on their agenda, but he wanted to be sure that the pack was ready for anything. With that being said, Allison was officially unofficially pack. She had gained a limited access card to the pack as way to relay information about the new hunters. Stiles was sure that as soon as that threat was gone, her membership into the werewolf club would be too.

As for the other wolves, they were too keep their eyes peeled and report anything out of the ordinary back to Derek or, strangely enough, Peter. Apparently this kind of thing was the reason why Peter was still a vital part of the pack. He knew more about being an alpha, had more wolfy knowledge than Derek. He knew his stuff, not that Stiles would ever tell him that…or anything really because Peter really freaked him out. It would have to be life or death for him to go to Peter for advice. And Derek had better be hanging from a ceiling upside down if he couldn't be reached.

And then there was the issue of the Hale house. Stiles had to admit, Peter did a great job with the renovations. He hadn't seen the house before the fire, but he didn't need to in order to know that this was better. Derek's reaction alone was enough to prove that. And there was a room for each one of them. He even got third – after Derek, being the alpha and all, and Peter, being the one who rebuilt the house – pick on the room he wanted. He made sure to pick a room far away from Peter's, but ended up having the room right across from Jackson. He was still trying to work out rather or not that had been done intentionally. He'd asked Derek, whose room was right next to his, but got no answer.

Speaking of Derek, he wasn't really on Stiles good side right now. He'd left Stiles stranded and with Peter of all people. And for what? Because he needed to go and get his car. What kind of sense did that even make? Stiles could have easily driven him back to his place to get his car. Then Stiles could have gone into his house and showered. Technically he could have done it here, but didn't have a change of clothes. There wasn't enough dirt in the world to get him to shower with Peter hanging around anyway.

Everyone else had left immediately after the meeting, as though they had all heard some dog whistle from across town and had to go and investigate. Everyone except Jackson, that is. Stiles found it weird that he and Lydia had driven separate cars, but didn't ask him about it. To be honest, Stiles still hadn't spoken to him, not sense the break up. He couldn't tell if it was getting to Jackson or not, but he couldn't keep it up much longer. It was weird not talking to him, and if they were going to continue to be pack, then they'd have to at least be cordial. Even with that being the case, Stiles wasn't too keen on the idea of having to bum a ride with Jackson.

He wasn't even sure if Jackson would give him a ride. He was dirty and sweaty and had been ignoring him for about three months. And Jackson cherished his Porsche. He really didn't see Jackson letting him touch the leather seats in his current condition. But it was either swallow his pride and pretty much beg Jackson to take pity on him or stay at the Hale house with Peter until Derek decided to bring his traitor ass back. The choice became painfully clear after that thought.

He had to do more than swallow his pride. He had to force it down with a big shovel. He hated asking Jackson for anything. Jackson was just so damn smug about everything. He'd eat it up with Stiles came to him for help, especially after dumping him; which was old news, but Stiles had the feeling that Jackson wouldn't see it that way. Knowing Jackson, Stiles would probably have to get down on his knees and lick Jackson's boots. He'd seriously rather walk than do that, but Derek had forbidden them from walking through the woods alone. And he had no phone to call for help or super wolf strength to defend himself. He'd end up dead or turned into the were-bitch of another pack – apparently he just screamed 'I'm submissive. Come and mount me big boy' – and neither of those fates were his favorite. Jackson and his boots it was then

Jackson was leaning against his car, phone in hand, tapping away. Stiles had no idea who he was texting, but figured it must have been someone he was upset with. His entire demeanor screamed 'I'm pissed' and Stiles had to use all of his mental strength to make his way over to the wolf. Jackson didn't acknowledge him, though he knew that Jackson could sense him. He thought that maybe Jackson was returning the silent treatment. He was prepared to drop to his knees and began his begging when Jackson put his phone away and looked at him. He didn't say anything, just stared at Stiles with an unwavering gaze that had him squirming.

"Um, hi," he murmured. He silently berated himself. Is that the best you can do?

"You done ignoring me now?" Jackson asked. It had been a while since Jackson had talked to him directly and Stiles pushed his knees back to make them sturdier.

"I wasn't ignoring you," Stiles lied. Even if Jackson wasn't a walking lie detector, he would have been able to tell that Stiles was lying.

"Cut the shit Stilinski. What do you want?" he asked. He was still staring at Stiles with that expression and it was doing nothing to calm him down.

"Why do I have to want something?" Stiles asked. Okay, he really was just prolonging it, but that was probably the worst thing to do. Jackson's patience was absolute shit and it would be better to just come out with it. "I need a ride."

"Where's your piece of shit jeep?" Jackson asked carelessly. Stiles shrugged.

"Derek stole it and left me stranded here. It's either beg you for mercy or stay here with Peter, who kind of wants to jump my bones." Stiles was sure that he imagined the growl that came from Jackson.

Jackson didn't say anything, didn't move an inch. He just kept his body still in the same position and continued to gaze at Stiles in that intense way. Stiles shifted again, growing more unsure of himself by the second.

"What?" he asked after a while. He crossed his arms across his chest and turned to look to the side, anywhere but at Jackson. He was sure that Jackson growled that time and whipped his head around to look at the werewolf. Jackson was staring at his neck. "Jackson?"

"Did Bentley do that?" Jackson asked. His voice was thick and gravely with some type of emotion. Stiles frowned and craned his neck in a stupid attempt to see what Jackson was referring to. He didn't have time to process what was going on before Jackson had his hand wrapped around his arm – what was with people doing that?! – and was pulling him towards the woods. He didn't have a choice but the follow helplessly behind.

Oh god, he's gonna kill me.


	7. Nature Scented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles prepares for death...but gets more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. Also, there is a little surprise in there.

_This is it, I'm gonna die._

When people talk about their lives flashing in front of their eyes, its total bullshit. Stiles didn't suddenly remember everything about his life in a short few minutes. He was too busy thinking about how painful this would be. And when he was able to think of something other than the obvious pain, it was how pissed his dad would be. That would result in his dad going for revenge and either killing Jackson or getting himself killed…both of which sucked ass on the end result meter.

What was even more pathetic was he wasn't even sure why this was happening. He hadn't done or said anything that would have set Jackson off. He thought about trying to fight. It would probably make Jackson laugh at his futile attempts at escaping and buy him some time. Or it could just piss Jackson off more and make his death more painful. And somehow he got the feeling that Jackson wouldn't make it quick. He seemed more like the torturous type; the kind of guy that took his time and really enjoyed the misery he was inflicting. It didn't help that Stiles' pain tolerance was a lot lower than it should be for someone who was constantly caught between two werewolves.

They finally stopped walking and Jackson let go off Stiles arm so suddenly that it sent him crashing down. He quickly righted himself, brushing the leaves and dirt of his pants. He was already filthy, no need to make it any worse. They were pretty deep into the woods now. Stiles was sure that Peter would be able to hear them if he really tried, but he wouldn't have a reason to come help. Unless he decided he wanted to have a little fun with Stiles on his own, and then that would just be wrong on so many levels. Stiles had a fleeting thought of running, but immediately filed it in the _'dumbest thoughts_ _ **ever**_ _'_ category. Jackson was a _werewolf_. And even if he didn't have that totally unfair advantage, Jackson had been faster than him before getting bitten. Plus he was sure running was like an invite for Jackson to tear him to shreds. Running… _noooo._

Then he thought about talking his way out of it. Jackson would either get tired of it and let him go…or he could just kill Stiles mid-sentence. None of his options were looking too bright at the moment, but talking was natural and it seemed like the easiest thing to do. He really had no idea what to say, which was preposterous because that never stopped him from opening his mouth before. _Sorry_ seemed like a pretty good place to start, but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. _What exactly would I be apologizing for anyway?_ He hadn't done anything to Jackson…except for dump him…and ignore him….and ignore his calls, or call rather. Okay, any one of those things seemed like a good start for apologizing. But Jackson deserved all of what Stiles had dished out, which wasn't much on the _'get revenge on your boyfriend'_ chart.

"Whatever I did, I can make it up to you. Just name your price." Bribery seemed like a pretty good place to start with the negotiations. Except for the fact that Jackson was fucking loaded and drove a _Porsche_ to _high school._ The only thing that could top that was having a private jet and Stiles couldn't afford that. If he could he wouldn't be driving a jeep to school.

"Shut up," Jackson growled. He was leaning against a tree, heels of his palms dug into his eyes. Stiles thought about going up to him and touching him, but that seemed like a definite no-no. What if it set Jackson off and made the painful part come a lot quicker.

Stiles thought about warning Jackson that Derek wouldn't take too kindly to his best bro and future roommate becoming a werewolf _Beggin' Strip_. Derek was the alpha after all, and Jackson was obligated to listen to him or die a painful hunter-induced death. He chose to remember to bring that up as a last resort. No need to play the alpha's best friend card and lose the little bit of dignity he had left after being drug through the forest… _for the second time that day._ He decided that if he lived after this, he was never going into the woods again. Bad things happened there.

Stiles knew that he should be grateful, but after a few minutes nothing happened. Jackson just continued to stand there, not moving. Stiles shifted nervously. He was unsure of what he should do. He could try and sneak back. He doubted he'd make it very far, but at least it could be said that he tried. He edged backwards slowly. Jackson didn't move from his spot, but his head cock a little, turning towards the noise that Stiles made. Okay, so sneaking away wasn't gonna happen.

"Um," Stiles started after a few more minutes of absolutely nothing. "Did you drag me out in the middle of the forest just to stand here? Cause if I wanted to do this, I could have just walked aimlessly around. Well until someone or something found me. Hopefully it wouldn't be Peter…who terrifies me. Although I'm not sure if I'd rather –"

"You talk too much," Jackson interrupted suddenly.

"Well that's so rude of you," Stiles stated with a frown. Jackson ignored him.

"You talk too much and you're loud and clumsy. You never sit still for anything. You say the dumbest things I've ever heard." Jackson still hadn't moved.

"Well isn't this just the highest form of sweet talk. Really, keep going. I'm about to die of flattery," Stiles replied sarcastically.

"And you're so fucking sarcastic," Jackson added.

"Oh that's fucking rich coming from you," Stiles retorted, folding his arms across his chest. What the hell was this anyway? Was Jackson going to try to insult him to death?

"You never listen. You always have something to say, something to fire back with. You always argue with me. And you always go head to head with me. I can never win with you. You never let me win. Not even to save my ego," Jackson continued. Stiles didn't offer anything in return. This may have been the most Jackson ever said without it being a full blown argument about something stupid.

"You get excited over the stupidest things. You never push me to be better. You don't do any of the things that Lydia did." Stiles frowned at that, feeling the hurt well under his skin.

"Is that what you wanted Jackson? For me to be Lydia with a dick?" he asked.

"There are a thousand and two annoying things that you do, and you do them all in one day repeatedly," Jackson continued, completely ignoring Stiles. "There are six million reasons why I shouldn't be with you."

"You think I don't know that?" Stiles hissed. "I know that! I've heard all six million reasons from every single person that saw us together!"

"And yet, with all those annoying habits; with all six million reasons, I still find myself yearning for you."

"Well I…wait, what?" Stiles stammered.

"I've officially lost my fucking mind. It must have fallen out during a game or during one of the zillion fights I've been in since turning, but it's gone to the fucking moon now."

"You seem pretty sane to me. At least, as sane as normal for you," Stiles offered quietly.

"That's another thing you do. You lie to me, even when you know I can tell." Jackson dropped his hands and looked directly into Stiles eyes. "I know I've lost my mind, because for each one of those reasons why we shouldn't be together, I have a response for why we should be. Because for as annoying as those habits are, I like them. I like them because they make you, you."

Stiles didn't know what to say. He wasn't used to this Jackson. He wasn't even sure if he was dreaming. Maybe Jackson had knocked him out and this was some weird dream sequence. That made much more sense than this being reality.

"Jackson," Stiles started. Jackson shook his head.

"I need to say this, because if I don't, things will never get better. I'm a dick. I do things to piss people off just because it amuses me. I don't play fair. I hit below the belt. I'm so fucked up that I can't even tell the only parents I've ever known how much I fucking love and appreciate them. I'm mean and selfish and I'd rather cut off my foot than admit how vulnerable I can be. Everyone knows it, knows exactly how I am. I'm the ultimate jackass, and yet they hang around me. And for what? Because they have to? Because they feel like they can get something from me? Because they think they can change me?

"But you don't. You talk a lot. But it keeps me from having to. You're loud, but it reminds me I'm not alone. You're sarcastic, but you're the only one who can go tit for tat with me and not get emotional. You never listen to me, which is probably the best thing about you because if you did, I would have pushed you so far away by now. You argue with me, never let me roll all over you. You never let me win, but you never rub it in my face when you beat me. You make me work for it. You never push me to be better. You accept me for what I am now. Not for what I could be. You don't treat me like a work in progress like Lydia did. You treat me like I'm the best thing to ever happen to you, even when we both know you could do a thousand times better."

"Jackson," Stiles started. Jackson was suddenly in his space, eyes glowing.

"I'm not fucking finished," he hissed. "I don't know why, but you put up with me. And then suddenly you didn't anymore. You broke up with me."

"We do that all the time Jackson," Stiles reminded him. Jackson shook his head.

"Those times were bullshit. This time I heard the truth in it," Jackson replied.

"My heart was beating so hard, I thought you could see it," Stiles admitted.

"It may have been racing, but it wasn't faltering. You meant every single word." Jackson's voice was thick with some type of emotion.

"I may have meant it at the time, but you of all people should know that today's truth isn't necessarily tomorrows," Stiles responded.

"I thought so too, but then you started seeing this Bentley bastard. Do you have any idea how much I fucking hate that guy? He stared at you like you were a piece of meat." Whoa, were they talking about the same Bentley? Bentley hadn't been anything but polite, even when Stiles was grating on his nerves.

"What about Lydia? If I recall, she was all over you," Stiles said. Jackson snorted.

"Lydia was a ruse. We never got back together. I thought maybe if you saw how much everyone else wanted me, you would too. But then Danny told me about that Bentley guy from the club." Stiles stared at Jackson and then burst into laughter.

"You were trying to make me jealous?" he asked once he'd calmed down.

"Not that it worked," Jackson muttered.

"It worked. God, the only reason I even bothered with Bentley was to try and get over you because I thought you were happy with Lydia. But whenever I saw the two of you, all I wanted to do was peel her off you," Stiles admitted. "You were all over each other."

"We didn't even kiss," Jackson replied. Stiles had noticed that, but amidst the jealousy and angst, he hadn't thought what it may have entailed. "And you're one to talk. Lydia and I turned up the PDA a little, but you fucked another guy."

"Whoa, what the hell?" Stiles all but shouted. If that was the rumor going around, then he'd seriously missed out. "If I got laid, I really fucking skipped out on the details."

"You and Bentley," Jackson hissed, pushing Stiles up against a tree. Stiles didn't try to fight it. He was still mulling over the words.

"Bentley and I didn't fuck. We hadn't even kissed. We've danced at most. Besides, we're just friends. We only had one date, and you were present for that…not cool by the way," Stiles replied. Jackson wasn't hearing it. He growled and pushed his body further into Stiles' as though he was trying to join them together.

"I smell him all over you. I can smell the arousal on you. And he put his marks on your neck," Jackson growled out. Stiles stood completely still, dumbfounded. He blinked and tried to make sense of what Jackson was saying.

"You smell him all over me because he hauled me up and out of the water when I nearly drowned…which was his fault if you really look at it. The arousal you smell on me is for you, dumbass. I don't know if you've noticed lately, but you're hot shit. As for his marks on my neck, I'm pretty sure you've lost it, because I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles replied.

Jackson leaned away from him, but not enough to allow Stiles to move. He dug his phone out of his pocket and aimed the camera at Stiles' neck. The shutter echoed briefly through the quietness. Jackson turned the phone so that the screen was facing Stiles. Stiles focused his eyes on the picture and was awed to find red two red patched on his neck. He squinted at them and then laughed when he realized what they were. Jackson looked completely lost and utterly unimpressed.

"Those are mosquito bites, genius! I went fishing with Bentley in the middle of the freaking woods," Stiles giggled. Jackson looked a little embarrassed, but relieved and a bit satisfied. It was quiet for a while before Jackson spoke again.

"So you think I'm hot shit," he said slyly. Stiles laughed, but nodded his head.

"I think you're incredibly hot and I've reverted back to wet dreams about you since we've been a part," Stiles smirked. Jackson's default expression of smugness returned to his face.

"I haven't had sex in two months," Jackson admitted. Stiles hummed in return. His mind caught up to what Jackson said and he frowned.

"We've been separated for three months asshole!" He punched Jackson as hard as he could, given the space and the fact that Jackson was a werewolf.

"Fucking shit! I'm kidding psycho!" Jackson jeered, rubbing at the tender spot on his chest with a huge grin.

"That wasn't funny. That would be just like you. Give me shit about having sex, which didn't happen, while you go out and fuck whoever you want. What gives you the – " Stiles was cut off by Jackson's mouth.

He'd forgotten just how powerful Jackson's kisses were. All of the energy he had in his body was suddenly gone, sucked out of his body by Jackson. He couldn't breathe; his lungs were burning painfully, but he couldn't find the power to give a damn. He'd gone so long without this and now that he was experiencing the enigma that was Jackson, he could care less if he suffocated himself.

Jackson finally pulled away, but Stiles wasn't letting up that easily. He followed Jackson's lips, pulled him back in close to him. Jackson went willingly. His lungs were about to burst and his heart was beating so hard, he was sure that Jackson could feel it. But the feel of Jackson's body close to his, the feel of Jackson's tongue stroking his, dominating his mouth was enough to make him ignore the discomfort. Jackson grabbed his hands and pushed them against the tree. He withdrew his tongue from Stiles' mouth, pausing to bite down on Stiles' bottom lip. Stiles moaned at the sensation, muscles flexing in attempt to get out of Jackson's grip. Jackson pulled away completely, smirking arrogantly at the faraway look on Stiles' face.

Stiles wanted to say something, but couldn't find the breath to get the words out. That and his brain wasn't functioning. His lips were stinging slightly, yet tingling at the same time. Jackson leaned into Stiles neck and inhaled deeply. There was a growl and Stiles jumped in shock. He wasn't sure if Jackson could smell Bentley more clearly there or not, but he hadn't done all of this just to lose Jackson again. He pulled away, ignore Jackson's whimper.

"I think maybe you should give me a ride home now," Stiles said. Jackson cocked his head to the side, but didn't move or say anything. "I'd really like to take a shower. I know I stink and this isn't how I pictured this playing out in my head."

"You smell like nature. Like the woods," Jackson stated suddenly. Stiles frowned at the random statement and Jackson rolled his eyes. "You smell like freedom and wildness….like home." _Oooh_ …well that explained the growling.

"So the scent of nature is like an aphrodisiac?" Stiles asked curiously. Jackson gave a curt nod and buried his face in Stiles' neck again. "Does this mean that we have to start bringing Pine-sol into the bedroom?"

Jackson laughed at that. Stiles stared at him in shock, or rather stared at what he could see of him. Jackson still had his face buried in his neck, and every time he exhaled during his laughing fit, his breath hit Stiles' neck. It had been a while since he'd heard Jackson laugh like this. It was refreshing yet weird at the same time. Jackson never laughed at his jokes, especially ones involving the weirdness of dating a werewolf. This wasn't the Jackson that he knew.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Jackson groaned lowly. This was the Jackson he knew.

"Not that I'm objecting, but in the woods?" Stiles asked. He wanted to add the fact that Peter may be able to hear them and take that as an invitation to come join in. He pushed all thoughts of Peter out his mind. Jackson was a selfish bastard anyway, and he'd never share….except maybe with Danny, but Stiles didn't know if that thought was supposed to excite him the way it did.

"You smell like nature and my wolf is howling at me to mount you and erase all traces of Bentley; telling me to make you smell like me, like mine. I'm not gonna be able to fight it long enough for you to go home and shower," Jackson's voice was rough and Stiles swallowed the lump that rose in his throat at hearing it.

"Does this mean that we don't have time for foreplay?" he asked jokingly. Jackson didn't laugh this time.

"It's taking every ounce of restraint I have to give you a heads up. Take your pants off," he demanded. Stiles let his mouth open in shock. Jackson was serious.

"What about my shirt?" Stiles questioned curiously. Jackson let out a growl of frustration before ripping Stiles shirt down the middle and yanking it off. His eyes were glowing bright blue* and his claws were razor sharp against the material. _Shit! Okay,_ Stiles thought, _no more stupid questions. Just follow directions._ He quickly unfastened his belt and jeans, kicking them off as fast as possible.

Jackson stepped back, eyes sweeping over his body slowly. Stiles felt a trail of heat follow Jackson's gaze and groaned quietly in the back of his throat when Jackson stepped back into him. Jackson's face was buried in his neck shortly after; though this time it wasn't just to inhale his scent. Stiles threw his head back to allow more access as Jackson raked his teeth over his jugular. His mouth closed over one particularly delicate spot and he sucked hard, grazing the area with his tongue to soothe the sting before sucking again. Once he was satisfied with the bright red mark, he moved to another spot, repeating his method until Stiles wasn't able to do anything other than hold on and whine pathetically.

Jackson's hands left their idle position and he slowly raked his clawed fingers up Stiles side and to his chest. His claws raked over Stiles' nipples softly; not enough to hurt, but just enough to sting deliciously and Stiles moaned deeply, his breath picking up. Jackson carefully plucked at the hard tissue, rolling one between the pads of his index finger and thumb before moving to the other. He licked his way down to Stiles' chest, captured the bud between his teeth and pulled at it gently, then dragged his tongue over it slowly. When Stiles thought that he might die, Jackson pulled away to kiss it then gave the other the same treatment.

His back was stinging from being pressed against the bark of the pine behind him, but Stiles found that it heightened his pleasure greatly. His cock was painfully hard, pre-cum weeping from the tip and smearing against his stomach. Jackson's shirt was gapping at the bottom from him leaning over to lap at Stiles' nipples, and the fabric kept grazing over the tip of his dick, teasing him with the possibility of friction. Jackson pulled away abruptly and Stiles moaned at the loss of heat.

"You're gonna have to work yourself open," Jackson grunted out. His voice hadn't lost the roughness. Stiles was a little surprised by the command. Jackson usually loved working him open, loved making his beg and plead. At Stiles' look, Jackson held up his clawed hand, wiggling his fingers. "I can't keep total control of my wolf and if I do it, I might tear you."

Stiles nodded in understanding and went to wet his fingers. Jackson caught his hand and before Stiles had time to question him, sucked three of Stiles fingers in his mouth. Stiles' brain stopped sharply and he forgot how to breathe. Jackson's mouth was incredibly hot. His tongue curled around his fingers and he dragged his teeth over the skin of Stiles' knuckles before sucking harder. Stiles' cock jumped at the sensation and he groaned as Jackson ran his tongue down the underside of his fingers. His teeth had lengthened with his claws, though not as much, and the feel of them made his fingers tingle.

When Stiles was sure his fingers were wet enough, and he couldn't stand waiting any longer he withdrew – with some difficulty – his fingers and pushed Jackson back a little to give him room to work. He'd never done this standing up before, wasn't sure if it was possible. He reached around behind him, testing out the angle. It was possible, but not at all comfortable. He let out a sigh before sinking to the ground. He spread his pants and torn shirt down as cushion before drawing his chest back closer to his thighs. He felt super exposed with his ass high in the air, on display for any and everything that happened to go by.

It'd been awhile since he'd done this, and the first finger felt a bit weird but familiar entering him. He immediately started to search for his prostate, found it with practiced ease, and moaned before rubbing at the spot. With each time his finger entered the tight ring of muscle, he slowly dragged it over that spot before dragging it back on the way out. It wasn't long before he had all three fingers inside. The stretch burned slightly, but was nothing compared to the pleasure. He was moaning with desire, voice rising in volume as the lust built in his chest.

He was vaguely aware of Jackson stripping down until he was naked. His presence became more pronounced as he kneeled behind Stiles. Stiles looked back and was met with the sight of deep, bright blue eyes staring at his ass. He watched Jackson as Jackson watched him; was painfully aware of Jackson's eyes following the movements of his fingers as they disappeared into his tight hole before reappearing briefly. Jackson was breathing hard and fast, inhaling as Stiles' fingers slid in and exhaling as they left. Knowing that Jackson was watching him work himself open in preparation for his dick made Stiles impatient. He withdrew his fingers with a loud groan, despite the fact that his muscles tightened in a futile attempt to suck them back in.

"Enough, Jackson. I'm ready," he grunted out. He noted that his voice was in no better condition that Jackson's. Jackson shook his head in disagreement.

"No, not enough. Never enough." Stiles groaned in frustration. If Jackson was down to incomplete sentences, then he was too far gone to listen to anything that Stiles was saying. At this point, he was in Jackson's hands, completely at his mercy. "Gonna make you beg. Make you never leave again."

That was all the warning that Jackson gave him before his tongue was deep inside Stiles' ass. Stiles moaned loudly at the sensation, pushing back to get as much as he could. Jackson dragged his clawed fingertips over the globes of his ass, just hard enough to hurt in the best way. He separated the two fleshy cheeks to give himself better access to Stiles' pucker. He withdrew his tongue and puckered his lips to suck at the sensitive hole.

Stiles was unable to do anything other than groan and whimper pathetically into the material of his ripped shirt. He pleaded and begged in broken sentences for Jackson to just fuck him already. His pleas fell on deaf ears and Jackson just buried his head further in-between his ass. His cock was painfully hard and he thought it might burst in a flash of pent-up desire; but he was twisted in one big ball of tense pleasure and in his current position, he didn't have enough leeway to get access to his cock to relieve some of the pressure. He tried to pull away, reached an arm back blindly to push Jackson away. Jackson growled and latched onto his arm with one hand, and smacked his right cheek with his other. Stiles gasped in surprise. When he got over the shock he tried again. He was rewarded with another smack, this time to his left cheek. He moaned at the stinging sensation.

"Don't touch. Mine!" Jackson grunted out, resuming his position between Stiles ass.

"Fuck me Jackson, before I go crazy!" Stiles pleaded. "Show me I'm yours."

Jackson didn't move, just continued to lap leisurely at Stiles puckered entrance. He let go off Stiles arm and simultaneously smacked the fleshy globes of his ass. He moved his mouth from Stiles hole, licking at it once more before running his teeth over the small of his back. Stiles let out a long, low groan as Jackson dragged his tongue up his spine to bite at the back of his neck. He could feel Jackson's dick between his cheeks. Hot and heavy, Jackson started to drag it up and down, panting as he rutted against Stiles. Stiles' own cock pulsed hotly, bobbing stiffly between his thighs as Stiles began pushing back against Jackson.

Jackson growled, hands flying to Stiles' hips to keep him in place. Stiles cried out in frustration, beginning to plea again. He could feel the tip of Jackson's dick every time it rubbed against his hole. Jackson finally, finally stopped rocking and placed his wet head against Stiles greedy entrance. He pushed in fast and hard and Stiles let his mouth fall open as a silent scream tore out of his throat. It was a bit painful, but Stiles welcomed the pain gratefully. He'd forgotten how big and thick Jackson was. Jackson's dick stretched him open wide, filled him completely and made more pre-cum gather at the tip of his own cock. Stiles reached down to stroke his dick, but Jackson batted his hands away. Jackson stroked his cock from bas to tip, gathered some of the pre-cum in his hand and spread it over Stiles' dick. He eased up his grip and trailed a clawed hand down the sensitive skin of the underside of Stiles' dick before reaching down to fondle his balls. He let go abruptly and smacked Stiles hand when he reached to stroke himself again.

"Mine," Jackson growled. "You come from the feel of me deep inside of you or you don't come at all." It was the longest sentence he'd spoken since this started and the words made Stiles make a needy noise in the back of his throat. He dropped his hands down to pluck and pull at his nipples instead.

Jackson withdrew and pushed back in hard. He snaked an arm around Stiles waist and let his other hand wrap around his neck in a firm but not painful grasp. He yanked Stiles up and back into him, sitting back on his own calves. Stiles' head spun at the sudden change of position and he let out a silent gasp as he slid down even further on Jackson's dick. With the new position, he was able to move his hips more. He swiveled them once, both him and Jackson groaning at the sensation. He lifted himself up and dropped back down on to Jackson's awaiting cock, his own bobbing with the movement. He rode Jackson fast and hard, the way both of them liked it moving his hips around as he sought out his prostate. He found it and groaned loudly into the quietness surrounding them as Jackson's thick rod dragged against it swiftly.

His newly found freedom was short lived. Jackson tightened his grip on his waist and neck, yanked Stiles' head back so that Stiles' ear was next to his mouth, and snapped his hips up. Stiles reached up and grasped two handfuls of Jackson's hair. Jackson bit and suckled at his ear, panting inside it as he moved. Jackson fucked him hard, grinding into his prostate upon entry and swiftly dragging across it on the way out before snapping his hips back up again. His forehead was glistening with sweat and with the combined pressure of Jackson's hand and the sheer force of which Jackson's dick was pounding into him, he couldn't correctly form the screams that were ripping through him.

He let his hands fall down from Jackson's hair and back to his nipples. He pinched and twisted at them, the stinging sensation heightening his pleasure. His fingers ached to wrap around his cock so that it could get some type of friction. It was flushed, angry and red, weeping as pre-cum fell in thick, slow drips from the force of Jackson's thrust. He let a hand drop slowly, hoping the movement wouldn't catch Jackson's attention. He was able to wrap his hand around his cock, other hand still teasing his sensitive nipples, and give it two good tugs before Jackson dropped his hand from his neck to wrap around his wrist in a firm grasp. Jackson stopped moving, kept his thick, hard dick pressed right against Stiles' prostate. Stiles keened and tried to move, but got nowhere with Jackson's grip on his waist.

"Please," Stiles whispered, unable to make his voice any louder. Jackson rolled his hips slowly.

"I won't move until you promise not to touch." Stiles knew he was serious and nodded his head vigorously.

"I promise. I won't touch. Please, fuck me." Stiles felt no shame in his begging and whimpered when Jackson let his wrist go. He trailed his hand back up to Stiles' neck, but stile didn't move his hips. Stiles could feel Jackson's heavy cock pulsing inside of his walls, and even the thought made him want to tug at his own cock. But he removed his hand obediently and let his hands travel back up to Jackson's hair. Jackson growled out his approval and started moving again, setting a punishing pace that Stiles' own hips couldn't keep up with. Stiles tightened his grip in Jackson's hair and held on as the sound of skin against skin spread through the forest.

His entire body was humming with pleasure. He felt as though Jackson was fucking his mind as well; he couldn't think of anything other than Jackson, let the other boy's name fall from his lips repeatedly in a mantra. He couldn't focus with the word moving so, everything vibrating from the sheer force of their lovemaking. He felt the heat inside himself growing as Jackson quickened the pace. He was repeating a mantra in Stiles' ear to match Stiles' own. Mine, mine, mine, mine.

If he could have formed any words other than Jackson, he would have reassured Jackson that he was his, that he wasn't going anywhere. That was a conversation that would have to wait, because much too soon the heat inside his body exploded in a blinding hot flash of white euphoria and he was coming in spurts all over his jeans and shirt. He felt his walls tighten almost painfully around Jackson's dick and then Jackson was right behind him, spilling his hot cum into Stiles' ass. He thrust into Stiles a couple more times before removing himself. Stiles moaned at the combination of losing the fullness that Jackson's dick gave him and the feel of Jackson's thick cum leaking out of his abused hole.

Stiles fell on his clothes. He groaned at the feel of his own cum, and now Jackson's, against his skin and rolled over onto the forest floor. Leaves were sticking to his skin from his sweat and Jackson's cum trickled down his thighs. There was a stick digging rather painfully into his side and there was a rock pressing into his shoulder blade, but he was so blissed out, he couldn't make himself care enough to move. He let his eyes close and rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

His entire body was still humming and he couldn't feel his fingers and toes. Now that he was able to concentrate, he found that it wasn't the world that was vibrating, but his own body shaking in the wake of his and Jackson's passion. He huffed out a laugh – because that's all he had the energy to do – at the aftermath of their lovemaking. His throat was sore and undoubtedly covered in love bites, the possessive freak that Jackson was. He could feel were the bruises were going to form on his wrists, waist and ass from Jackson's rough handling.

For all his bullshit, Jackson was great at making it up. Stiles didn't think he'd ever been so thoroughly fucked. And he was sure now more than ever that there was no way that he could ever get over Jackson by having sex with someone else. Sex with Jackson was too exhilarating to be matched by another, especially a mere human. He chuckled at the thought. This was what his life had been resorted to, comparing humans to his werewolf lover.

Speaking of lover.

He opened his eyes to search for Jackson. He scanned the area, but didn't see Jackson. He noted that his clothes and shoes were gone. He let out a huff of frustration, but couldn't find the energy to do much more. Jackson was such an asshole. What kind of boyfriend left his lover in the middle of the woods….naked. and there was no telling rather or not he would be discovered, be it by a hunter or a werewolf. He heard the shuffle of leaves and froze. What if it was Peter? He didn't have the energy to fight him off if Peter decided to take a turn. He felt the panic rise in his chest and threaten to choke him.

"Calm down Stilinski, it's just me." Jackson's voice reached his ears and he nearly cried out with happiness.

Jackson walked through the brush, a bundled up hoodie in his hands. He was wearing a rather smug expression on his face and Stiles couldn't help but grin at the fact that he'd help put it there. Stiles eyed the black hoodie curiously upon realizing that it was his. He'd been looking for it, but hadn't been able to find it. Now he knew why. Jackson saw his expression and blushed faintly.

"You left it in my car. I was gonna give it to you, but it still smelt like you and I …" he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his head. Stiles smiled at him.

"You," he stated surely. "Are a man in full Jackson Whittemore." His heart stayed steady and Jackson grinned cockily at hearing that it wasn't a lie.

He reached out a hand to help Stiles up. Stiles' took it gratefully and grabbed his jeans off the forest floor. His boxers were unharmed, save for the fact that they had dried swamp water soaked into them. He jeans had the drying remains of their passion on the front of them. He took the waddled up hoodie from Jackson. A white tank – Jackson's, he noted – fell as he unfolded the material. He pulled it on, followed by the hoodie. He noticed a few dried, crusted, white stains and looked at Jackson curiously. Jackson was looking off to the side, feigning innocence that they both knew he didn't have rights to. Stiles laughed and pulled the hoodie on anyway.

"I smell disgusting," he stated, looking down at his filthy clothes. He looked up to find Jackson suddenly in his space again.

"You smell like home….like my home," he stated truthfully. Stiles heart skipped a beat, but he smiled goofily on the outside instead.

"If by home you mean hoe…then sure." Jackson smirked at the comment and pulled Stiles into him. He'd grown quite a bit and Stiles' head was now right against his chest. He listened to Jackson's heartbeat and sighed in content.

"Stiles," Jackson started after a while. Stiles went completely still. Jackson never called him Stiles. Well, except for those few private and sweet moments they'd shared together over the course of their on–again-off-again relationship. Stiles looked up into Jackson's eyes. They were their normal blue again, not the vivid blue that expressed that he was more wolf than human. Stiles loved his eyes. "You're…you're it for me. You're my home. Only you."

Stiles thought over the words, then smiled warmly at Jackson. If he translated those words to normal, human terms, then Jackson was saying that he loved him. It wasn't exactly saying "I love you" but it was as close as Stiles suspected he'd get with Jackson being Jackson. He didn't mind. He didn't love Jackson for his potential to change. He loved him for who he was. And maybe Jackson would never be able to tell him he loved him, but he could live with that. He'd say it enough for the two of them.

"I love you too," he whispered, leaning up to kiss him. Jackson allowed the kiss for all of three seconds before he turned his head with a grimace.

"You're such a fucking sap," he groaned. Stiles smiled and rolled his eyes, noting that despite the words, Jackson still hadn't let him go.

"You're a shitty boyfriend," he shot back jokingly. Jackson grinned down at him. Jackson let go of him, grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. He tugged Stiles forward, leading him towards the Hale house and his Porsche. Stiles went willingly.

"I know, you keep breaking up with me for it," he stated, wearing his signature cocky smirk.

"That and because make-up sex is awesome," Stiles admitted. The walk back the car was much shorter than the walk from and he chalked it up to being due to nerves and fear.

"Should we make up again then? Once you've showered of course," Jackson asked, slipping into the sleek car. Stiles followed suit quickly. He didn't put it below Jackson to leave him.

"I'm not objecting," he stated, fastening his seatbelt. Jackson threw him a smug grin.

"You're such a slut." Oh such words of endearment, Stiles thought with an eye roll.

"And you're a dick," he shot back mildly. Jackson didn't say anything in return. Just started the car and sped off the Hale property.

* * *

The ride to his house was quiet and serene. It didn't start off that way though. They'd had a long talk about how to make their relationship work without so many break ups. Stiles wanted to cut down on the fights too, but this was Jackson. And he kinda felt like their fights were foreplay. He'd pretty much demanded that Jackson give him a key to his house as well. He'd figured that Jackson would argue and flat-out refuse. To his surprise, Jackson reached over in the glove box and pulled a black bag out. He tossed it over in Stiles' lap. Stiles immediately opened it and was surprised to see a shiny, brand new key. It was on a key chain, not a necklace like Lydia's used to be. But it had a custom-made key chain on it that read: Property of Stiles Stilinski. On the back of it in parenthesis read: (who is the property of Jackson Whittemore)

"Remind me to suck your dick later," Stiles stated lowly.

"You were gonna do that anyway," Jackson replied with a snort. He pulled up in front of Stiles' house, jerking to an abrupt stop.

Stiles was relieved to see his jeep parked in front of his house. There was a note from Derek stuck to his window.

_You're welcome. - The repairman._

Well shit. Seemed Derek had a little more to do with him making up with Jackson than he thought.

He invited Jackson up, but Jackson informed him that his dad was home and that he had two minutes to get clean clothes and come back. Apparently he planned to make good on his suggestion that they make up again. Stiles flew by his father with a quick 'hey, dad' and up to his room. He found his overnight back pushed in the back of his closet, packed and ready to go like always. He grabbed it and was back down the steps quickly.

"I'm spending the night with Jackson," Stiles told his dad honestly. Stiles had a sneaking suspicion that his dad didn't think he was a virgin like he tried to make Stiles pretend.

"You too got back together?" he asked, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

"He loves me," Stiles replied. "Well, he didn't say those words exactly, but he does." The sheriff held up his hand to stop Stiles from explaining.

"You're mom never said 'I love you' either. There are other ways. Trust me I know. Now get out of here. I have company on the way over."

Stiles grinned at his dad and shot out the door and down the driveway. Jackson was looking rather impatient when he slid back in the car and Stiles' rolled his eyes at his attitude. Jackson was so bipolar.

"I'm sorry that I was gone all of two minutes," Stiles replied sarcastically.

"All I gave you was two minutes," Jackson shot back just as wittingly. Stiles rolled his eyes again. He'd be doing a lot of that….for the rest of his life. Jackson peeled off, speeding down the street. He knew that as the sheriff, Stiles' dad hated when he did that and in front of his house no less.

"You're such a dick," Stiles replied with a slight grin. Jackson shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant look on his face.

"I can live with that," he stated smugly.

Yes, Jackson was a dick, but he also had one and he used it in ways that made Stiles incoherent.

"Ever thought about having Danny join us in a threesome?" Stiles asked suddenly, remembering his thoughts from earlier. Jackson threw him an incredulous look before it morphed into a mischievous on and he took his phone out to text Danny.

* * *

For some predominant reason people liked to think that Jackson was an undercover sweetheart. They liked to think that he showered Stiles with kisses and cuddled up with him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. Boy, were they fucking wrong. All in all, Jackson was a dick. And he never did any of that stuff.

But he was sweet in his own right and Stiles loved him regardless. He was happy with Jackson….so long as they didn't make sex in the woods a normal occurence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first sex scene….like ever! I'm sure it's far from perfect and probably sucked ass and didn't make your heart race (which is what I was going for) but that was the best I could do. Hopefully that's something that gets better with practice. Review and let me know how to make them better.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment.


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